UC-NRLF 


THE  TOCSIN 

A  DRAMA  OF 
THE  RENAISSANCE 


BY 


ESTHER  BROWN 
TIFFANY 


. 


THOMAS   RUTHERFORD  BACON 
MEMORIAL  LIBRARY 


THE  TOCSIN 


-. .     .- 


7  4T    N 

::.-V   -•  •    ~-*-^ 


,     -Hi  -•    7     T.-*^^Sr-:-TL         i 


"<*£& 


THE  TOCSIN 

A  DRAMA  JENAIb 

By  ESTHER  BROWN  TIFFANY 


INTERPOSE  AT  THE  t-: 

SNATCH  SAUL  THK 

SAUL  THE  t  -.  nun 

NOW, — AND  BIO  HIM   AV 

THE  DREAM  OF  LIFE 

BY 

MICHAEL  ANGELO 

BROWNING  •      i> 


PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPA 
3LISHERS  •  SAN  FRANCE 


U  ^O  MA3fl(I  3HT 

OJ30XA  JJ/.HJli/I 


THE  TOCSIN 

A  DRAMA  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE 
BY  ESTHER  BROWN  TIFFANY 


INTERPOSE  AT  THE  DIFFICULT  MINUTE, 
SNATCH  SAUL  THE  MISTAKE, 

SAUL  THE  FAILURE,  THE  RUIN  HE  SEEMS 
NOW, — AND  BID  HIM  AWAKE 

FROM  THE  DREAM,  THE  PROBATION,  THE 
PRELUDE,  TO  FIND  HIMSELF  SET 

CLEAR  AND  SAFE  IN  NEW  LIGHT  AND  NEW 

LIFE   — ^— 

BROWNING'S  "SAUL." 


PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  •  SAN  FRANCISCO 


Copyright,  1909 
by  PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

MY  FATHER 
FRANCIS  TIFFANY 


273123 


ARGUMENT 

Florence,  under  Francesco  de'  Medici  and  his  Grand 
Duchess,  the  "infamous"  Bianca  Cappello,  is  smitten  by 
famine  and  plague.  Among  those  who  flee  the  death- 
stricken  city  is  the  Abbot  of  San  Raffaello.  The  Abbot  is 
a  man  of  dual  nature  —  brilliant,  cynical,  pleasure-loving, 
generous,  impressionable ;  dowered  with  wit,  charm,  genius, 
and,  true  child  of  the  Renaissance,  a  passionate  worshipper 
of  the  beautiful.  Conscious  though  he  is  of  the  cowardice 
of  deserting  his  post  at  such  a  time,  he  yet  summons  his 
cowering  monks  about  him  for  flight  to  the  pure  air  of  the 
Apennines.  They  go  to  the  seat  of  his  cousin,  Bianca  delle 
Torre,  the  new  favorite  of  Francesco  de'  Medici. 

In  the  Abbot's  train  is  Marianna,  a  young  peasant  girl 
disguised,  for  her  better  protection,  as  a  boy.  She  has  but 
lately  come  to  Florence,  having  left  her  mountain  hamlet 
in  the  vain  hope  of  tracing  her  absent  lover,  Lorenzo,  who 
is  a  ward  of  the  Abbot. 

To  the  desolate  and  deserted  city  comes  an  angel  of 
mercy  in  the  person  of  Sister  Maddalena,  a  "Poor  Claire," 
as  the  nuns  of  the  third  or  uncloistered  order  of  St.  Francis 
were  called.  They  were  vowed  to  a  life  of  poverty  and 
charity.  Herself  a  Florentine  of  noble  birth,  she  has  for 
years  been  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  only 
returns  to  her  beloved  city  at  its  cry  of  need.  Her  devout 
life  is  the  result  of  a  deep  religious  experience  of  her  youth. 
Years  before,  in  the  Duomo,  she  had  been  overwhelmed  by 


ARGUMENT 

the  impassioned  eloquence  of  a  young  priest.  Fired  by 
his  burning  words,  she  had  renounced  the  world  and  its 
pleasures  to  lead  so  inspired  a  life  of  prayer  and  charity 
that  she  is  now  regarded  throughout  Tuscany  as  a  saint. 
The  young  priest,  at  that  time  in  deacon's  orders,  was  no 
other  than  the  Abbot  of  San  Raffaello.  Of  his  dual  nature, 
and  of  his  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  luxury  and 
license  of  the  time,  she  knows  nothing.  Shrining  his  image 
in  her  heart,  she  prays  that  the  hour  may  come  when  she 
may  meet  him  once  more  face  to  face  and,  falling  at  his 
knees,  bathe  his  blessed  feet  with  her  tears  of  thanksgiving. 

In  Pistoia,  not  far  from  Castle  delle  Torre,  Pope  Sixtus 
V.,  stern  old  Peretti,  is  holding  counsel  with  Francesco  de' 
Medici,  and  here  the  Abbot's  ward,  Lorenzo,  asking  audi 
ence  of  His  Holiness,  has  the  misfortune  to  drop  a  loaded 
pistol  at  the  pontiff's  feet.  A  new  edict  has  just  been  pro 
mulgated  against  bearing  arms  in  the  papal  presence,  and 
Lorenzo  thus  falls  under  sentence  of  death.  From  this 
penalty  Marianna,  who  has  come  to  Castle  delle  Torre  with 
the  Abbot  and  his  flock,  saves  her  lover  by  a  bold  night 
ride  for  his  pardon.  In  the  meantime,  however,  Lorenzo 
has  fallen  into  the  toils  of  the  beautiful  Bianca  delle  Torre, 
and  for  a  while  Marianna  is  left  desolate. 

To  Pistoia,  also,  comes  Sister  Maddalena  to  interview 
the  Pope  concerning  the  pestilence.  On  her  way  she  stops 
at  Castle  delle  Torre.  The  iniquities  of  the  two  Biancas, 
Bianca  Cappello,  the  Grand  Duchess,  and  Bianca  delle 
Torre,  the  new  favorite,  oppress  her  soul.  She  believes  that 
Florence  suffers  for  the  sins  of  its  rulers ;  that  the  Almighty 
is  moved  to  wipe  the  plague-spot  from  the  earth.  She  comes 
to  plead  with  Bianca,  but  here  at  length  in  Castle  delle 
Torre  are  the  prayers  of  a  lifetime  answered.  In  the  moon- 

vi 


ARGUMENT 

lit  courtyard,  jesting  over  his  wine,  Sister  Maddalena  meets 
the  Abbot  and  throws  herself  on  her  knees  before  the  man 
whose  image  she  has  so  long  held  sacred.  Then,  like  a 
stroke  of  lightning,  comes  the  revelation  to  each.  Aghast, 
she  learns  what  a  mistaken  ideal  she  has  been  cherishing 
of  this  man  of  sin  whom  she  has  felt  to  be  the  instrument 
of  her  salvation.  Mystery  of  mysteries !  her  sainthood  the 
outcome  of  his  wasted  life!  He  on  his  part,  overcome  with 
self-loathing  and  moved  by  the  stirrings  of  his  old  faith, 
calls  about  him  the  trembling  monks,  exhorts  and  inspires 
them;  then,  holding  aloft  the  cross,  he  places  himself  at 
their  head,  and  leads  them  back  to  Florence,  the  city  of  the 
dying  and  the  dead. 


Vll 


THE  TOCSIN 

A  DRAMA  IN  FOUR  ACTS 

CHARACTERS  OF  THE 
DRAMA 

ABBOT 
OF  THE  BENEDICTINE  MONASTERY  OF  SAN  RAFFAELLO  AT  FLORENCE 

LORENZO  TORNABUONI 
THE  ABBOT'S  WARD 

SIR  WALTER  HOWARD  &  COUNT  SAL VI ATI 
YOUNG  NOBLEMEN  AND  SUITORS  TO  BIANCA 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO  &r  BROTHER  FILIPO 
OF  THE  ORDER  OF  ST.  BENEDICT 

BARDI 
A  BEGGAR,  FORMER  SECRETARY  TO  THE  MEDICI 

CAPTAIN 
OF  THE  PAPAL  GUARD 

BIANCA  DELLE  TORRE 
A  YOUNG  WIDOWED  COUNTESS,  COUSIN  TO  THE  ABBOT 

SISTER  MADDALENA 
OF  THE  THIRD  OR  UNCLOISTERED  ORDER  OF  ST.  FRANCIS 

MARIANNA  (alias  GABRIELLO) 
A  PEASANT  GIRL 

NITA 
WAITING  WOMAN  TO  BIANCA 

MONKS,  SERVANTS,  CHOIR  BOYS,  ETC. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  1586,  first  in  Florence, 

afterward  in  Castle  delle  Torre  outside  the  City  of  Pistoia,  at  the 
foot  of  the  Apennines. 


IX 


ACT  I 

A  stately  garden  in  Florence^  belonging  to  Count  Sahiati. 
Marble  fountains  and  statues  of  nymphs  gleam  from  among 
the  ilexes  and  oleanders.  At  one  side  is  the  brick  wall,  time- 
stained  and  mellow  with  agey  of  the  abbey  of  San  Raffaello. 
'The  wall  is  pierced  with  a  rich  door  w  ay  >  crowned  by  a  figure 
of  the  archangel  Raphael.  At  the  rear  of  the  garden  another 
gate  and  wall  shut  off  the  street.  In  the  foreground  is  a 
table  for  three  >  sumptuously  set.  'Two  servants  in  livery  are 
bringing  in  flagons  of  wine  and  dishes  of  fruit. 

FIRST  SERVANT.    At  six  were  they  to  come? 

SECOND  SERVANT.    At  six,  by  the  Abbot's  watch. 

FIRST  SERVANT.  And  at  six  tomorrow,  by  the  Abbot's 
watch,  we  may  all  be  dead  of  the  plague. 

SECOND  SERVANT.  Drink,  then,  while  we  may.  ( He  drinks 
from  one  of  the  flagons?) 

FIRST  SERVANT  {drinking  and  smacking  his  lips).  Ah,  that 
would  put  life  into  the  dead. 

SECOND  SERVANT.  Yes,  when  his  Reverence  is  bid  to  sup 
per,  my  master  brings  out  his  best. 

FIRST  SERVANT.    But  where  are  the  flowers? 


:  THE  TOCSIN 


SECOND  SERVANT.    His  Reverence's  page  was  to  bring  them. 

FIRST  SERVANT.  That  close-mouthed  Gabriello?  I  cannot 
squeeze  a  word  out  of  him  about  his  own  affairs,  or  the 
Abbot's,  either. 

SECOND  SERVANT.  No,  he  holds  himself  as  much  aloof  as 
the  Grand  Duchess  herself. 

FIRST  SERVANT.  And  was  picked  up  in  the  gutter,  was  he 
not? 

SECOND  SERVANT.  Some  such  story.  For  all  his  round  eyes, 
he  knows  on  which  side  his  bread  is  buttered.  No  won 
der  he  fawns  on  his  Reverence  like  a  stray  dog. 

FIRST  SERVANT.  There's  not  a  stray  dog  in  Florence  that 
does  not  fawn  on  his  Reverence. 

( 'The  convent  gate  of  ens  and  discloses  Marianna,  dressed 
as  a  page,  her  arms  full  of  flowers?) 

SECOND  SERVANT.    Ah,  there  is  Gabriello  now. 

FIRST  SERVANT.    Make  haste.    Must  we  wait  all  night? 

MARIANNA  (hurrying  forward).  Am  I  late?  Every  rose  I 
saw  was  so  much  more  beautiful  than  the  last,  that  I  had 
to  stop  and  pick  it.  These  for  the  head,  Luigi,  and  these 
to  crown  the  fruit.  (She  decorates  the  table.) 

FIRST  SERVANT.   There  are  no  other  such  roses  in  Florence. 

MARIANNA.  No, his  Reverence  has  only  to  touch  a  plant  and 
it  bursts  into  flower.  How  I  love  to  see  him  pacing  up  and 
down  his  rose-alleys,  in  the  sun,  his  dog  rubbing  its  nose 
against  his  white  robe,  and  to  hear  him  talk  to  his  roses. 

SECOND  SERVANT.    Talk  to  his  roses? 

MARIANNA  (shrinking  back  at  Luigi' s  laugh).  Oh,  in  jest, 
as  he  does  to  dogs,  or  the  boys  of  the  Sanctuary, —  or  to 
me !  (  The  servants  move  offy  laughing.  Marianna  picks  up 
a  white  rose  and  looks  at  it  dreamily?)  Why  would  he  not 
pull  it  himself,  the  Reverend  Father?  I  found  him  bend- 


THE   TOCSIN 

ing  over  it,  but  his  hands  were  behind  his  back.   "  Here, 

Gabriello,"  he  said,  "  I  have  sworn  to  this  white  virgin, 

my  hands  should  not  touch  her.    You  alone  must  break 

her  from  her  stalk." 
FIRST  SERVANT  (looking  disapprovingly  at  the  table).    After 

all,  you  have  brought  too  few. 
MARIANNA.    I  will  run  back  for  more. 
SECOND  SERVANT.    Here  come  his  Excellency  the  Count 

and  Sir  Walter  Howard. 

(They  stand  back.   Enter  Count  Sahiati  and  Sir  Walter 

Howard  from  the  side  opposite  the  convent.) 
COUNT  SALVIATI  (to  Marianna).   Where  is  the  Reverend 

Father? 
MARIANNA.    His  Reverence  bade  me  give  you  a  thousand 

pardons,  but  he  must  be  late.    Important  letters.    He 

begs  you  will  not  wait  for  him.    ( She  bows  and  goes  out 

through  the  convent  gate.) 
COUNT  SALVIATI  (to  Sir  Walter).    Well,  then,  let  us  try 

these  nectarines  till  he  joins  us.    ( They  seat  themselves  at 

the  tabled) 
SIR  WALTER.   Yes,  we  English  are  a  soberer  race  than  you 

Tuscans. 
COUNT  SALVIATI.  And  habitually  invite  the  skeleton  to  the 

feast. 
SIR  WALTER.    We  find  it  less  easy  to  turn  our  eyes  from 

him,  when  he  stands  grinning  in  at  our  gates,  as  now. 
COUNT  SALVIATI.    Ah,  the  famine  and   the  plague.    You 

wonder  how  we  who  yet  live  can  make  merry. 
SIR  WALTER.    Florence  is  dying  for  bread. 
COUNT  SALVIATI  (to  one  of  the  servants).    Music,  Luigi. 

( Luigi  goes  to  summer-house^  where  the  musicians  are,  and 

brings  them  forward.) 


THE  TOCSIN 

SIR  WALTER  (shuddering).  Pisa  is  a  charnal-house ;  hun 
dreds  lie  unburied  in  the  streets.  Husbands  desert  their 
wives,  mothers  their  children. 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (shrugging  his  shoulders).  And  we  feast. 
(He  turns  impatiently  to  the  musicians.)  Something  gay. 
( The  flayers  break  into  a  wild  dance-measure.  Count  Sal- 
viati  waves  his  hand)  Softly.  ( They  move  toward  the 
r  ear  y  playing  with  fire  but  in  low  tones.) 

SIR  WALTER.    A  dirge  were  fitter. 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  When  you  marry  the  beautiful  Bianca 
delle  Torre  and  become  one  of  us,  you  will  understand 
us  better. 

SIR  WALTER  (gloomily).  More  chance  there  for  you  than 
for  me. 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (gaily).  Neck  and  neck  at  present.  (A 
dancer  appears  from  among  the  musicians  and  begins  a  wild, 
graceful  dance.  Count  Sahiati  applauds  a  moment  with  a 
"  brava ! "  then  turns  again  to  Sir  Walter,  who  pays  no 
heed  to  the  dancer?)  Would  it  check  your  pace,  you  with 
your  strange  island  conventionalities,  should  I  whisper 
that  the  Grand  Duke  himself  is  in  the  running  ? 

SIR  WALTER  (starting  to  his  feet).    Francesco  de'  Medici? 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (luxuriously  enjoying  his  fruit).  Francesco 
de'  Medici. 

SIR  WALTER.    But  his  Duchess  still  lives. 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (shrugging  his  shoulders).  Yes,  she  still 
lives,  that  other,  that  terrible  Bianca  Cappello.  But  you 
look  pale.  ( He  fills  his  glass.)  To  the  ripe  lips  of  your 
intended,  Bianca  delle  Torre. 

(As  they  are  drinking  a  knocking  at  the  gate  is  heard 
above  the  dance  music.  One  of  the  servants  opens  the  gate 
and  Sister  Maddalena,  a  child  in  her  arms,  is  seen  at  the 


THE   TOCSIN 

entrance.  She  stands  severe  and  solemn  in  her  gray  Fran 
ciscan  dress.  About  her  clings  a  group  of  half-clad,  famine- 
stricken  women  and  children.  An  old  man  with  traces  of 
better  days  about  him  follows  in  their  train.  Count  Sahiati 
and  Sir  Walter  turn  and  gaze  amazed?) 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (to  Luigi).   Whose  feast  is  this? 

SERVANT.  The  noble  Count  Salviati's.  (He  motions  the 
group  away,  but  Sister  Maddalena,  with  a  commanding 
gesture,  stops  him  and  enters,  her  people  following  timidly.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  Count  Salviati,  I  bring  your  guests. 
(She  holds  up  a  silencing  hand  to  the  musicians  and  the 
dancing-girl,  who  pause  confused  and  irresolute.) 

COUNT  SALVIATI  ( turning  angrily).  What  does  this  mean ! 
Luigi ! 

SERVANT  (deprecatingly).  I  could  not  help  —  pardon  me, 
Sir  Count! 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (in  the  same  tone  of  calm  command). 
Rise,  Count  Salviati,  and  you,  sir  (to  Sir  Walter),  rise, 
and  welcome  your  guests. 

(Count  Salviati,  half  in  anger,  half  as  though  constrained 
by  some  superior  will,  rises  and  with  him  Sir  Walter.) 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (to  Sister  Maddalena).  Who  in  the  devil's 
name  are  you  that  dare 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (to  the  trembling  women).  Eat.  Drink. 
( She  places  the  child  in  the  arms  of  one  of  them  and  pours 
out  wine.  'They  cluster  about  the  table  eating  ravenously. 
Count  Salviati  and  Sir  Walter  stand  confounded.) 

SIR  WALTER  (to  Count  Salviati).    What  is  she? 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Some  half-crazed  fanatic,  her  head  turned 
by  the  famine. 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (to  servants).  Serve  your  master's 
guests.  ( 'The  servants  look  toward  the  Count  for  orders) 


THE  TOCSIN 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (with  an  assumption  of  his  former  light 
manner).  By  all  means,  Luigi.  Make  haste.  Serve  the 
noble  ladies.  And  if  they  are  weary,  lead  them  to  the 
arbor  yonder  and  bring  silken  coverlets  and  cushions  for 
their  delicate  heads.  For  when  ladies  (he  bows  profoundly, 
his  hand  on  his  heart),  so  fair,  so  radiant,  condescend  to 

grace  my  humble  board (Sister  Maddalena  turns 

with  head  eretJ  and  looks  silently  full  at  Count  Salviati.  He 
stops  in  full  breath  and  grasps  Sir  Walter's  arm.}  The 
fiend  take  the  woman.  She  has  the  evil  eye.  Speak  to 
her,  Sir  Walter;  send  her  packing.  You  English  are  not 
afraid  of  the  evil  eye.  There  are  my  servants  waiting  on 
her,  like  whipped  hounds. 

SIR  WALTER.    Let  us  call  his  Reverence. 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (with  an  air  of  relief).  Well  said.  (They 
pass  out  through  the  abbey  gate.  Sister  Maddalena  ap 
proaches  the  old  man  who  sits  in  a  brooding  attitude,  his 
cup  untastedy  his  head  in  his  hand.  His  air  is  haggard  and 
wild.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA.   You  eat  nothing. 

BARDI  (looking  up  dazed).    Eh? 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    Eat.    Drink. 

BARDI  (feverishly).  Yes,  yes.  To  give  me  strength.  To 
give  me  strength. 

(Sister  Maddalena  takes  a  silver  salver  from  the  table, 
fills  it  with  water  from  the  fountain  and  places  it  at  old 
Bar  di's  feet.  'Then  she  brings  one  of  the  fine  napkins,  kneels 
down  before  him  and  begins  to  unfasten  his  sandals.  He 
appears  only  half  conscious  of  her  action,  forgetting  his  food 
and  falling  into  his  former  brooding  attitude.  Sister  Madda 
lena  bathes  and  wipes  his  feet.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    Poor  wounded  foot. 


THE  TOCSIN 

BARDI.  Wounded?  Ah,  that  was  but  a  sharp  stone,  but 
here,  in  my  side,  the  stiletto  thrust 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    Let  me  see  the  wound. 

BARDI  (grasping  his  robe  about  him  and  speaking  with  a  fierce 
intensity).  No,  no,  let  it  rankle,  let  it  fester,  that  not  for 
one  moment  I  forget. 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    Beware  lest  you  forget  to  forgive. 

BARDI  (his  voice  rising  shrilly}.  Forgive?  I  forgive,  who 
spent  my  life  for  the  Grand  Duchess  —  sold  my  honor? 
I  was  her  scribe,  and  now  that  she  sickens,  the  Grand 
Duke  would  turn  for  his  pleasures  to  a  fresher  face.  He 
hired  me ;  and  I  am  trapped  by  the  Duchess  with  a  love- 
token  to  the  new  favorite,  and  thrust  through  with  cold 
steel 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    O  Lord,  how  long! 

BARDI  (seizing  her  hand  as  his  tone  changes  to  one  of  exultant 
malice}.  Listen,  Sister.  The  new  favorite,  her  name  too 
is  Bianca — Bianca  delle  Torre.  Near  Pistoia  she  lives. 
Even  my  old  eyes  exulted  at  the  whiteness  of  her  throat. 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (pressing  her  hand  to  her  heart}.  O 
new  web  of  guilt!  O  Florence! 

BARDI  (exultantly}.  Bianca  delle  Torre;  remember,  Sister, 
Bianca  delle  Torre.  And  when  Bianca  Cappello  lies  stark 
and  cold  and  the  other  Bianca  reigns  in  her  stead,  re 
member  it  was  old  Bardi  who  carried  the  first  love-token. 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (her  face  becoming  as  one  who  thinks  out 
a  problem).  To  plead  with  her.  Near  Pistoia.  And  I  go 
there  today  to  see  His  Holiness. 

BARDI  (catching  eagerly  at  the  word}.  Pistoia.  Yes,  yes. 
She  lives  there  in  Castle  delle  Torre.  Tell  her  of  old 
Bardi.  Tell  her  old  Bardi  is  fallen  on  evil  days  —  is  ill  — 
is  dying  —  tell  her 


THE  TOCSIN 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    And   you  would  take   bread  from 

such  as  she  ?    O  unreverend  white  hairs !    O  corrupted 

heart ! 

(Marianna,  who  has  entered  with  more  flowers  and  stolen 

nearer,  utters  an  exclamation  and  drops  her  roses,    Sister 

Maddalena  hurries  toward  her.) 
SISTER  MADDALENA.  Marianna! 
MARIANNA  (covering  her  face  with  her  hands).  O  Sister 

Maddalena ! 
SISTER  MADDALENA  (to  the  poor  women).  Go,  now,  and  the 

Holy  Virgin  keep  you.    (They  crowd  about  her,  kissing 

her  hands  and  the  hem  of  her  robe.   She  turns  to  Bardi.) 
SISTER  MADDALENA.   Your  days  are  few.    Even  now  the 

sword  hangs  over  Florence.   "Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will 

repay,"  saith  the  Lord.    Go.  Forget.  Forgive.  Repent. 
( One  of  the  servants  opens  the  gate.   The  throng  flocks  out. 

Sister  Maddalena  turns   to  Marianna,  with   outstretched 

arms,  the  remoteness  hovering  about  her  all  gone,  and  a 

thrilling  tenderness  in  her  voice?) 
SISTER  MADDALENA  (to  Marianna).   In  the  dress  of  a  boy! 

O  my  lost  lamb ! 
MARIANNA.    No,  Sister,  not  lost.   O  Sister,  it  was  so  long, 

so  long  since  I  had  heard  from  him. 
SISTER  MADDALENA.  From  Lorenzo? 
MARIANNA.  Who  else  is  there !  O  Sister,  my  heart  was 

breaking  and  I  came  to  Florence  to  find  him ! 
SISTER  MADDALENA.    Left  your  peaceful  mountain  hamlet 

for  this  great,  evil  place !  Yes,  I  traced  you  nearly  to  the 

city  gates. 

MARIANNA.   You  came  to  find  me  ? 
SISTER  MADDALENA.  As  the  shepherd  the  strayed  lamb.  (She 

throws  a  fold  of  her  mantle  about  Marianna  and  lifting  her 

8 


THE  TOCSIN 

face  gazes  searchingly  into  it.    Her  own  clears  as  she  does 

so.)    Praise  be  to  the  Saints ! 
MARIANNA.    For  what,  Sister?   Why  do  you  search  my 

eyes? 
SISTER  MADDALENA.  Unspotted  from  the  world !  (She  kisses 

Marianna  on  the  forehead r.)   And  now  you  will  come  with 

me. 

MARIANNA.    O  Sister,  not  yet ! 
SISTER  MADDALENA.  Yes,  now.   I  must  make  haste  to  Pis- 

toia  this  very  night.    His  Holiness  is  there.    I  must  see 

him  and  beg  help  for  Florence. 
MARIANNA.    For  the  famine? 
SISTER  MADDALENA.    For  the  plague  which  will  smite  her 

before  these  flowers  have  withered  on  their  stalks. 
MARIANNA  ( tearing  herself  away).   Then  I  will  stay,  for  if 

Lorenzo  should  come  to  Florence  and  no  one  to  nurse 

him !    O  Holy  Virgin ! 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    This  is  no  place  for  you. 
MARIANNA.    O  Sister,  wait,  wait !    Give  me  one  little  half- 
hour  more.    A  reverend  father  I  know  has  letters  from 

Lorenzo.    Let  me  hear  first  if  he  is  alive  or  dead. 
SISTER  MADDALENA.    There  is  a  dying  woman  in  the  next 

street,  holding  on  to  life  till  I  come  to  her.    I  cannot 

wait. 
MARIANNA.    Go,  go  and  leave  me  here  a  little  half-hour, 

and  when  you  come  back  I  will  follow  you.    O  Sister, 

if  you  knew  what  it  was  to  love,  you  would  have  mercy 

on  me! 
SISTER  MADDALENA  (half  to  herself).    This   little  earthly 

love,  this  possession  of  a  few  moments !  Oh,  if  you  could 

hear  the  voice  I   once    heard,  long   years   ago,  at  the 

blessed  Eastertide,  here  in  the  cathedral ! 


THE  TOCSIN 

MARIANNA.    What  voice,  Sister? 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (her  eyes  growing  rapt).  Of  an  angel, 
not  a  man.  One  to  whom  I  owe  every  hope  of  my  sal 
vation. 

MARIANNA.    You  loved  him? 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  His  soul  spoke  to  mine  and  mine  leapt 
to  life.  ( She  flings  out  her  arms  with  sudden  burning  fervor.) 

0  Lord,  if  it  be  not  a  sinful  desire  of  self,  grant,  grant 
that  I  may  yet  in  the  flesh  once  more  behold  him,  fall 
at  his  holy  feet,  and  bathe  them  with  tears  of  thanks 
giving  !   (She  stands  rapt  a  moment ;  then  the  fire  dies  from 
her  eyes,  and  she  turns  with  her  former  calm  to  Marianna.) 

1  will  return  for  you  soon. 
MARIANNA.    I  will  be  at  the  gate,  Sister. 

(Sister  Maddalena  goes  out.    Marianna  closes  the  gate. 

The  servants  attempt  to  arrange  the  disordered  table.) 
FIRST  SERVANT.    But  why  were  you  fool  enough  to  let  her 

in? 
SECOND  SERVANT.    It  was  the  Count's  fault.    He  should 

have  driven  her  out. 
FIRST  SERVANT.    There  they  come  now  and  his  Reverence 

with  them. 

(Enter  from  the  convent  Count  Salviati,  Sir  W alter  >  and 

the  Abbot  in  the  white  robe  of  his  order.) 
ABBOT  (laughing).    Devoured  your  feast  before  your  very 

eyes,  you  say?    But  where  is  the  rabble? 
COUNT  SALVIATI.    Gone! 
ABBOT.    And  half  the  plate,  too,  I  dare  swear,  hid  in  the 

chaste  bosom  of  the  holy  sister  of  St.  Francis. 
SIR  WALTER.    But  if  you  could  have  seen  her ! 
ABBOT.    Pah !   I  know  the  unwashed  tribe.  (He  takes  a  rose 

from  the  table  and  smells  it,  delicately.) 

10 


THE  TOCSIN 

COUNT  SALVIATI.    If  you  could  have  heard  her! 

ABBOT.  A  mere  trick  of  the  trade.  I  held  it  myself  once, 
for  an  hour,  and  preached  an  Easter  sermon  yonder  in 
the  cathedral,  that  brought  all  Florence  to  its  knees. 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Who  has  not  heard  of  your  Reverence's 
great  sermon? 

ABBOT.  And  the  women, — you  should  have  heard  the  sobs 
of  the  women ! 

COUNT  SALVIATI.    I  prefer  their  smiles. 

ABBOT.  And  then  the  Archbishop  clapt  this  fat  abbey  into 
my  mouth  and  I  am  (shrugging  his  shoulders)  —  your  very 
good  companion.  But,  per  Bacco!  our  fair  guests  have 
left  us  but  scant  pickings. 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (hurling  his  flagons  on  the  ground).  Pestif 
erous  wretches ! 

ABBOT.  Here,  boy,  run  to  Brother  Gregorius  and  bid  him 
give  you  my  gold  cups,  Cellini's  work.  He  will  know. 

MARIANNA.  Yes,  Reverend  Father.  (She  goes  out  through 
the  abbey  gate.  The  Abbot  looks  after  her.  It  is  manifest 
that  the  evident  simplicity  and  purity  of  the  supposed  boy  are, 
though  perhaps  unconsciously  to  the  Abbot,  touching  the  best 
side  of  his  nature.  With  her  his  worldliness,  his  cynicism 
half  drop  from  him.) 

ABBOT  (looking  after  her).  Country-bred,  sirs,  and  smacking 
still  of  the  fields.  A  pretty  something  in  his  eyes,  we 
used  to  call  innocence. 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Still,  I  think  I  should  keep  an  eye  to 
the  key  of  my  strong-box.  (To  the  servants.)  Fresh  wine 
and  fruit. 

( The  servants  go  out.    The  others  seat  themselves.) 

ABBOT  ( to  Sir  Walter ',  handing  him  a  paper).  This  came  in 
Lorenzo's  packet. 

I  I 


THE  TOCSIN 

SIR  WALTER.    By  your  leave.   (He  goes  apart  and  reads  the 

paper.) 
ABBOT  ( to  Count  Salviati ).   That  troublesome  ward  of  mine, 

Lorenzo  Tornabuoni,  whom  I  sent  to  England  to  cure 

of  a  love  folly 

COUNT  SALVIATI.   Yes,  I  have  heard. 

ABBOT.    Well,  cured  or  not  cured,  he  is  on  his  way  home. 

COUNT  SALVIATI.   Have  you  tried  the  old  cure, u  Like  cures 

like?" 
ABBOT.    Not  in  his  case. 

(Enter  Marianna  with  a  salver,  bearing  three  superb 

golden  goblets.) 
COUNT  SALVIATI.    I   know  a  lady  who  would  cure  your 

ward  of  his  love-sickness. 
ABBOT.    Who  is  she? 
COUNT  SALVIATI.   You  should  know.    Is  she  not  near  kin 

to  you  ?    Bianca  delle  Torre. 
ABBOT.    My  very  own  fair  cousin. 
COUNT  SALVIATI.    Then  Lorenzo  knows  her  already  ? 
ABBOT.    No,  they  have  never  met. 
COUNT  SALVIATI.    Let  her  physic  his  wound. 
ABBOT.    Poor  boy.    (His  brow  clouds.) 
COUNT  SALVIATI.    Has   he   had   many  such   troublesome 

loves,  this  Lorenzo  of  yours? 

(Marianna  makes  a  half-smothered  exclamation,  and  drops 

one  of  the  goblets.) 
ABBOT  ( turning  suddenly ).  Have  a  care,  boy.  (He  hands  one 

of  the  cups  to  the  Count.)    But,  indeed,  this   is   cunning 

goldsmith's  work.  Cellini's.  Were  ever  Cupid  and  Psyche 

modeled  more  graciously? 
COUNT  SALVIATI.    Admirable. 

(Sir  Walter  comes  to  the  Count  with  a  paper. 

12 


THE  TOCSIN 

Count  exclaims  and  turns  to  the  Abbot  who  is  lazily  play 
ing  with  some  strawberries.)  By  your  leave.  (Reads  the 
paper.) 

ABBOT  (with  a  gracious  motion  of  his  hand).  So  that  it  does 
not  spoil  your  palate  for  this  fruit.  Here,  Gabriello,  let 
me  see  which  are  ripest,  these  berries,  or  your  lips. 
( Gabriello  kneels  before  the  Abbot ,  who  takes  a  berry  and 
puts  it  between  her  lips.)  The  king  of  the  dish.  Am  I 
not  a  generous  master,  Gabriello?  When  you  go  from 
me  to  another  master,  and  they  say  evil  things  of  me, 
tell  them,  "  Ah,  but  he  always  gave  me  the  largest  ber 
ries  in  the  dish." 

MARIANNA.  No  one  should  ever  say  evil  things  of  you  in 
my  hearing. 

ABBOT  (turning  up  her  face,  half  curiously,  half  carelessly). 
Why,  how  the  child  flushes !  What  a  curious  light  you 
have  in  your  eyes,  Gabriello;  for  all  the  world  like  — 
where  have  I  seen  it  before  ?  ( His  gaze  leaves  her  face. 
He  draws  a  long  breath.)  On  the  morning  hills,  the  light, 
the  radiance 

MARIANNA.    What  light,  Reverend  Father? 

ABBOT  (musing).  'Tis  years  since  I  have  thought  myself 
back  there. 

MARIANNA.    Where,  Reverend  Father? 

ABBOT.  Have  you  ever  been  in  the  hills,  Gabriello,  the 
real  mountains?  Ah,  yes,  you  came  from  there. 

MARIANNA.    I  have  always  lived  there. 

ABBOT.  But  I  lived  in  Venice.  To  be  content  with  this 
world,  Gabriello,  live  on  the  plains.  No  mystifying  hints 
of  half-seen,  cloud-capped  phantasmagoria,  that  dazzle 
the  eye  from  a  mountain  peak.  There,  never  try  to  un 
derstand.  Taste  this  berry. 


THE  TOCSIN 

MARIANNA.  Perhaps  I  do  not  understand,  but  oh,  I  love 
to  hear  you. 

ABBOT  (forgetting  Gabriello).  Ah,  the  wild  life  there  in 
Venice !  How  the  blood  ran  riot  in  our  veins !  Was  I 
ever  once  alone  in  my  life,  till  I  left  my  father's  palace  ? 
What  took  me  to  the  hills  ?  Up,  up  I  climbed,  half  the 
night,  then  turned  and  saw — my  God,  what  did  I  not 
see !  ( He  rises,  oblivious  of  everything  about  him.)  Early 
morning,  the  sun  not  yet  risen,  a  hush,  a  purity  —  how 
the  world  seemed  to  fall  away !  The  light  in  the  sky ! 
It  seemed  to  stab  me  with  ineffable  joy  and  agony! 
Prayers  surged  to  my  lips 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (looking  up  from  his  papers).  What  are  we 
losing  ?  A  tale  from  the  Decameron  ? 

ABBOT  (with  a  sudden  bitter  laugh).  A  fairy  tale  to  amuse 
Gabriello.  (He  throws  himself  down  on  his  seat,  his  old 
careless  manner  upon  him.) 

MARIANNA  (with  wide  eyes).    And  then,  and  then? 

ABBOT.  Never  go  to  the  hills,  boy;  they  turn  the  heads 
of  honest  folk.  Or,  yes,  go  to  them,  get  mad,  renounce 
the  world,  turn  monk,  take  holy  orders,  preach  a  sermon 
of  blood  and  tears,  draw  a  rich  abbey  and  —  live  happy 
ever  after. 

MARIANNA  (shaking  her  head  sadly).  You  are  telling  it  dif 
ferently  now. 

ABBOT  (cynically).  Yes,  now  it  is  a  tale  from  Boccaccio.  (He 
pushes  her  lightly  away.  Sir  Walter  comes  forward  hastily?) 

SIR  WALTER.  Pardon,  I  must  leave  at  once  for  Pistoia.  I 
am  to  meet  Lorenzo  tonight  at  Castle  delle  Torre. 

ABBOT.  What,  is  my  pretty  cousin  Bianca  dabbling  in  the 
English  plot  ?  ( To  Count  Salviati.)  Providence  puts  Lor 
enzo  in  her  hands. 

14 


THE  TOCSIN 

SIR  WALTER  (reading  from  his  letter).   "The  Pope  is  in 

Pistoia.    Lorenzo  has  audience  of  His  Holiness." 
COUNT  SALVIATI  (tapping  Sir  Walter  on  the  breast}.    Let  me 

warn  you,  if  you  have  audience  of  His  Holiness,  leave 

behind  you  the  staunch  little  friend  I  see  there. 
SIR  WALTER  (drawing  out  a  pistol).    This? 
COUNT  SALVIATI.    Very  pretty,  but  not  to  be  carried  in 

Papal  presence. 
ABBOT.    Why  not? 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  A  new  edict,  and  when  Sixtus  speaks 

ABBOT.    This  comes  of  the  two  attempts  on  his  life. 
COUNT  SALVIATI.    Yes,  and  now  whoever  approaches  him 

armed,  dies. 
ABBOT  (starting  up  with  sudden  emotion).    Does  Lorenzo 

know  this  ? 

(Marianna  clasps  her  hands.    Enter  Brother  Sebastiano 

from  the  convent,  breathless  and  trembling.) 
BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    Reverend  Father! 
ABBOT.    Well. 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    Reverend  Father! 
ABBOT.    Out  with  it! 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    It  has  reached  the  next  village. 
ABBOT.    What,  your  face  ?    It  is  long  enough. 
BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    The  pestilence! 

(Count  Sahiati  and  Sir  Walter  start  and  rise.     The 

Abbot  alone  keeps  his  coolness.) 
COUNT  SALVIATI.    Reached  San  Marino ! 
SIR  WALTER.    Come  with  me  to  Pistoia. 
BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    The  Holy  Virgin  herself  has  been 

seen  in  the  streets  of  Florence,  clad  all  in  gray,  like  a 

sister  of  St.  Francis. 
SIR  WALTER.    Our  fanatic. 

15 


THE  TOCSIN 

ABBOT.    Bravo,  Count,  it  was  the  Queen  of  Heaven  you 

entertained  unawares. 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.   And  prophesies  death  and  destruc 
tion  to  Florence  for  her  sins. 

ABBOT.    I  pray  you,  gentlemen,  repent  and  save  the  city. 
BROTHER  SEBASTIANO  (to  the  Abbot).   O  Reverend  Father, 

if  I  thought  my  sins,  my  heinous  sins 

ABBOT.    What!  you  have  been  tripping? 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO  (wringing  his  hands).    A  thousand 

times  have  I  «sworn  to  abstain ! 
ABBOT  (gaily  to  Count  Sahiati  and  Sir  Walter}.    Listen, 

gentlemen,  a  confession !    For  this  sinner  is   Florence 

smitten ! 

COUNT  SALVIATI.    Then  we  go  free. 
BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    But  the  saints  having  as   it  were 

thrust  the  key  into  my  hands  (he  draws  out  a  large  key)  — 

I  found  it  on  the  chapel  floor 

ABBOT.    Ah,  whom  the  very  saints  tempt ! 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    And   my  voice  never   sounds    so 

clear — your  Reverence   himself  praised  it   one   day  at 

matins  —  as  when  my  stomach  is  warm. 
ABBOT.    I  —  at  matins  ?    A  miracle ! 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    And  so,  year  after  year,  O  Rever 
end  Father 

ABBOT.    So  you  were  the  leak !  and  it  is  my  Burgundy  that 

has  been  ripening  your  nose  these  ten  years  ? 
BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    Saints  forgive   me!    But  Brother 

Gregorius 

ABBOT.    Keep  to  your  own  sins. 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    If  the  pestilence  spare  me  to  do 

penance ! 
ABBOT.    The  Burgundy  I  forgive  you,  but  not  your  solitary 

16 


THE  TOCSIN 

guzzlings.  What  the  devil  do  you  think  the  blessed 
saints  thrust  this  temptation  under  your  nose  for,  but  to 
see  if  you  were  good  fellow  enough  to  invite  the  whole 
convent  into  my  cellar  and  warm  their  fasting  hearts  ? 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO  (deeply  perplexed).    Your  Reverence 
knows  more  of  the  ways  of  the  blessed  saints  than  I ! 
( Enter  Brother  Filipo,  wringing  his  hands.) 

BROTHER  FILIPO.  Lost!  All  lost!  The  plague  is  on  us! 
In  San  Marino  every  soul  is  stricken  with  death  (telling 
his  beads).  O  Holy  Virgin,  have  mercy,  have  mercy! 
Remember  not  my  sins,  O  Lord ! 

ABBOT.    Fool !    Coward ! 

(A  confused  murmur  of  voices  is  heard.  The  convent  gate 
is  burst  open  and  a  stream  of  brothers  all  in  the  white  robes 
of  the  Order  of  St.  Benedict  pour  into  the  garden?) 

BROTHERS  (incoherently}.  The  pestilence !  Death!  Florence 
doomed !  The  gray  sister ! 

ABBOT  (lifting  his  arm  with  a  strong^  commanding  gesture}. 
Silence !  ( He  glances  over  the  trembling  throng  and  speaks 
half  in  scorn,  as  though  answering  his  own  bitter  thoughts.) 
And  yet  you  are  what  I  have  made  you,  and  now  it  is 
too  late !  (A  mocking  light  comes  into  his  face}  No,  she  is 
not  a  pleasant  bed-fellow,  my  lady  Pestilence,  and  why 
should  I  ask  you  to  lie  with  her  when  I  will  not?  Does 
not  her  mere  breath  on  your  cheek  chill  your  heart's 
blood !  Those  trembling  hands  to  tend  the  dying !  Those 
pallid  lips  to  whisper  courage !  What  have  I  ever  given 
you  that  you  could  give  again !  Come,  then,  we  who 
are  afraid  to  die,  out  of  the  pest-house,  out  of  the  death 
trap  !  Who  goes  ?  Who  stays  ? 

BROTHERS  (crowding  about  him).  Take  me  —  and  me  —  I 
go  —  I  go! 


THE  TOCSIN 

ABBOT  (recklessly  and  lifting  a  glass).  To  Castle  delle  Torre, 
then,  to  the  pure  breath  of  the  Apennines  and  —  a  health 
to  my  lady  Pestilence  (the  monks  shudder  and  cross  them 
selves),  and  may  she  keep  us  long  from  our  duties! 


18 


ACT  II 

A  lofty  hall  in  Castle  delle  Torre.  At  one  side  is  a  wide 
marble  fire-place  and  before  it  a  table  set  with  glasses.  Enter 
Nita,  followed  by  a  pouting  page.  He  carries  an  elaborately 
wrought  jewel-box  and  a  wreath  of  roses. 

PAGE.   To  make  a  messenger  of  the  Grand  Duke,  Francesco 

de'  Medici,  cool  his  heels  all  day  in  the  ante-room ! 
NITA  (glancing  cautiously  about  and  fingering  the  lid  of  the 

jewel-box).    Just  one  little  peep. 
PAGE  (pushing  her  hand  away).    No. 
NITA.    How  does  it  open  ?   Ah,  you  do  not  know.    I  see 

your  master  does  not  trust  you,  and,  indeed,  why  should 

he? 
PAGE.    Not  trust  me  ?    See,  you  have  only  to  press  the 

cherub's  head  and (As  he  does  so  the  lid  flies  open.) 

NITA  (clasping  her  hands).  Angelisantil  A  coronet  of  rubies, 

blood  red!    Oh,  to  wear  such  a  coronet! 
PAGE  ( disdainfully  lifting  the  wreath  and  placing  it  on  her 

head).    These  are  for  such  as  you. 
NITA  (uttering  a  cry  and  putting  up  her  hands).  The  thorns, 

the  thorns!    Blessed  saints!    it  has  made  my  forehead 

19 


THE  TOCSIN 

bleed!  (She  snatches  it  off,  the  petals  falling  as  she  handles 
it.)  One  more  little  peep  at  the  jewels,  to  pay  me  for 
those  cruel  thorns. 

( Their  heads  are  together  over  the  box>  when  a  curtain  is 
pulled  noiselessly  back  and  Sister  Maddalenay  worn  and  ex 
hausted^  enters.  She  stands  watching  the  pair  silently  and 
with  drawn  brows.) 

PAGE.    Well,  then,  only  you  must  not  touch. 

NITA.  The  cherub  head,  the  laughing  one!  He  may  well 
laugh.  Oh,  let  me  press  it!  (Sister  Maddalena  draws  a 
long  breath  as  the  jewel-box  flies  open.)  Who  was  it  sighed  ? 
(Turning  and  perceiving  the  Sister.)  Angeli  santil  (She 
starts  away  from  the  page.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (to  the  page).  You  wear  the  livery  of 
the  Medici. 

NITA  (falling  on  her  knees).  The  Holy  Sister  Maddalena! 
On  your  knees,  Sandro ! 

PAGE  (standing  ere  ft  and  looking  arrogantly  at  the  Sister).  I 
have  a  message  for  the  Countess  from  my  master. 

NITA  (pulling  his  cloak).  Hst,  the  Holy  Sister!  Hst, — 
Ora pro  nobisl  Your  blessing,  Holy  Sister! 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  I,  too,  have  a  message  for  the  Count 
ess  from  my  Master.  (She  catches  her  breath  and  puts  her 
hand  to  her  throat?)  The  saints  grant  me  strength  to  de 
liver  it !  ( She  sways  and  supports  herself  against  the  table?) 

NITA.    O  Sister,  your  bleeding  feet ! 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (indifferently).  Do  they  bleed?  I  have 
come  far. 

NITA.  Let  me  bind  them  up  for  you.  O  Sister,  you 
tremble !  ( She  rises  and  supports  Sister  Maddalena.)  Let 
me  get  you  some  wine. 

SISTER    MADDALENA.     A   cup   of  water.     My   throat   is 

20 


THE  TOCSIN 

parched.    The  fountain  I  passed  in  the  court;   let  me 
rest  a  moment.    O  Lord,  thy  vessels  of  clay 

NITA.    Lean  on  me,  Sister. 

(Sister  Maddalena  goes  out,  supported  by  Nita.   'The  page 
shrugs  his  shoulders  and  busies  himself  with  his  wreath.) 

PAGE.  Half  fallen  to  pieces.  Ah,  some  one  is  coming.  The 
Countess.  (He  smoothes  his  ruffles.  Enter  a  servant,  throw 
ing  open  the  doors.) 

SERVANT.  His  Highness's  messenger  awaits  the  Contessa's 
pleasure. 

(Enter  Bianca  delle  Torre.) 

BIANCA  (waving  her  hand  indifferently  toward  the  casket). 
On  the  table,  there !  You  may  go. 

PAGE  (presenting  a  letter).  His  Highness  hoped  I  might 
have  the  honor  of  a  return  message. 

BIANCA.    Come  for  it  in  three  days. 

PAGE.    At  the  Countess's  service.    ( He  bows  and  goes  out.) 

BIANCA  (going  to  the  casket  and  opening  it).  Ah !  (She  takes 
out  a  coronet.)  This  —  and  the  title  of  Marchioness  —  if 
I  choose  (she  takes  out  other  jewels),  and  if  the  Grand 
Duchess  —  if  Bianca  Cappello  should  die  —  he  raised  her 
to  a  throne,  why  not  me  ?  The  "infamous  Bianca,"  men 
called  her.  Now  this  strange  wasting  illness  she  has. 
Bianca — Bianca  de'  Medici.  (She  puts  the  jewels  back 
and  closes  the  casket,  then  touches  a  bell  on  the  table.  No  one 
comes.  She  touches  it  again  impatiently,  then  again  angrily.) 
What  does  this  mean!  Where  are  my  people!  (She 
strikes  the  bell  again  more  angrily.  Enter  Nita  breathless.) 

NITA.    Pardon,  my  lady! 

BIANCA.    How  often  am  I  to  ring? 

NITA.  A  thousand  pardons,  gracious  lady!  I  heard  and  I 
could  not  stir  —  the  Holy  Sister! 

21 


THE  TOCSIN 

BIANCA.    What  holy  sister? 

NITA.  In  the  courtyard,  gracious  lady,  the  Holy  Sister 
Maddalena  and  the  whole  household  on  its  knees  and 
the  blessed  saint  warning  us  of  death  and  purgatory 

BIANCA.    What  nonsense  is  this? 

NITA  (crossing  herself).  The  gracious  lady  has  only  to 
open  the  casement  and  look.  (Volubly.)  Even  old  Josefe 
who  buried  his  three  sons  dry-eyed  is  all  tears.  And 
when  she  speaks  every  one  must  listen  whether  one 
would  or  no.  And  see,  Contessa,  I  myself  tore  off  my 
bracelet,  the  one  your  Excellency  gave  me,  and  cast  it  at 
her  feet  (holding  up  her  wrist  remorsefully).  Bare  as  my 
poor  arm  looks  without  it,  may  the  saints  reward  me! 

BIANCA.  Foolish  child!  (Giving  her  a  ring  from  her  finger.) 
Here — lest  the  saints  forget. 

NITA  (kissing  Biancas  hand).  O  Contessa,  a  thousand 
thanks ! 

BIANCA.    What  is  the  Sister  doing  here? 

NITA.  On  her  way  to  Pistoia,  blessed  saint,  to  see  His 
Holiness;  she  stopped  here  for  a  cup  of  water  and  to 
bind  up  her  feet — St.  Agnes,  how  they  bled!  She  will 
be  gone  now — and  my  bracelet  with  her. 

BIANCA.    I  should  like  to  see  old  Josefe  in  tears. 

NITA.  And  miracles  she  can  work,  my  lady,  and  tell  the 
future 

BIANCA  (suddenly).    Tell  the  future! 

NITA.    And  has  visions,  holy  saint  that  she  is! 

BIANCA.    Call  her  up — run  after  her  if  she  is  gone.    Quick! 

NITA.    Yes,  my  lady.    (Exit.) 

BIANCA.  See  into  the  future!  They  say  these  strange 
creatures,  with  their  mortifications  of  the  flesh,  can  do 
that.  If  I  knew!  If  the  stake  were  worth  the  playing 

22 


THE   TOCSIN 

(She  stands  musing,  her  hand  on  the  casket;  then  goes  to  the 
casement  and  opens  it.)  Yes,  there  they  all  are  still,  but 
rising  from  their  knees  and  already  repenting  their  re 
pentance. 

(Enter  Nit  a  throwing  open  the  door.) 

NITA.    Sister  Maddalena.    (Exit.) 

( 'The  Sister  comes  forward  with  a  calm  dignity  but  with 
searching  eyes  on  Bianca's  face.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    My  time  is  short. 

BIANCA.    They  say  you  have  strange  gifts. 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    That  is  as  Heaven  wills. 

BIANCA.  I  would  know — there  is  one — a — a  friend  stricken 
with  a  wasting  sickness 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    You  speak  of  Bianca  Cappello. 

BIANCA  (starting).    I  had  not  named  her. 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  I  will  join  my  prayers  with  yours 
that  she  may  recover. 

BIANCA  (hastily  aside).  Heaven  forbid!  ("To  the  Sister.)  I 
fear  my  prayers  would  avail  little. 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  Nothing  is  denied  the  earnest  and 
suppliant  heart. 

BIANCA.  But  Heaven  may  have  a  higher  crown  for  her. 
( 'Takes  a  jewel  from  her  breast.)  For  your  poor.  ( The  Sis 
ter  steps  back,  sternly  waving  off  Bianca  s  hand.)  And  twice 
this  in  gold.  Tell  me,  must  Florence  again  mourn  its 
Grand  Duchess? 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (in  a  sudden  fervor  of  passion).  O  Flor 
ence!  O  my  city!  Not  yet  purged  from  the  pollution 
of  that  adulterous  marriage,  and  now  again  to  be  smitten 
for  its  ruler's  shame!  Strike,  strike,  O  avenging  pesti 
lence!  Stay  not  thy  hand  till  the  abomination  be  scourged 
from  off  the  earth. 

23 


THE  TOCSIN 

BIANCA.    Woman! 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  Where  is  that  voice  long  dumb — 
that  clarion  voice  that  called  me  from  my  sin?  O  Lord, 
how  long ! 

BIANCA.    Go! 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (pointing  to  Eianca  with  a  fierce  fire  in 
her  eyes  before  which  she  sways  back  as  if  from  a  flame). 
You  and  such  as  you  it  is  that  call  down  God's  wrath  in 
the  fiery  darts  of  the  pestilence !  You  that  walk  in  high 
places!  You  that  wear  purple  and  fine  linen! 

( Eianca,  her  hand  on  her  breast,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on 
Sister  Maddalena,  flies  to  the  doors  and  throws  them  back.) 

BIANCA.    Bernardo!   Giorgio! 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  Too  long  has  the  Lord  held  His 
hand. 

(Enter  servants.) 

BIANCA  (pointing  to  Sister  Maddalena  and  with  her  proud 
manner  again  upon  her).  The  woman!  Drive  her  from 
the  gates !  ( 'The  servants  recoil  and  look  in  perturbation  at 
each  other.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (to  the  servants).  Have  no  fear.  You 
obey  a  higher  voice  than  hers. 

BIANCA.    Bernardo ! 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (to  servants).  Go.  I  shall  follow.  (They 
go  out.  She  turns  to  Eianca  with  outstretched  arms,  the 
anger  gone,  and  her  voice  tender  and  beseeching^)  And  yet 
I  know  how  it  is  with  you.  Never  dream  I  do  not  know. 
I  too  once  slept  soft  and  knew  the  life  of  courts  and  was 
beautiful.  I  too  lived  in  the  fleeting  moment,  and  was 
blind  and  knew  it  not.  Then  a  light  smote  me.  Then  a 
hand  plucked  me  from  the  abyss  as  I  would  pluck  you. 
It  is  not  yet  too  late.  Christ's  bosom  is  so  tender. 

24 


THE  TOCSIN 

Though  your  sins  are  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  white  as 
snow.  Come !  (Bianca  turns  away.  The  Sister  stands  with 
outstretched  arms.)  You  will  not?  You  shut  your  ears  to 
my  voice?  Oh,  if  I  could  but  stay  and  plead  with  you! 
But  my  dying  people  call.  (Sister  Maddalena  advances  to 
the  table,  laying  her  hand  on  the  casket,  her  voice  thrilling 
with  an  almost  unearthly  solemnity?)  Not  chance  it  was 
brought  me  to  you.  Two  messengers  have  come  to  you 
today,  one  from  an  earthly  prince,  one  from  the  Lord 
High  God  of  Hosts.  To  which  word  will  you  give  ear? 
(She  points  to  the  wreath.)  See,  the  chaplet  of  roses, 
twined  by  carnal  love,  already  fades.  (She  lifts  up  the  gar 
land.  The  withered  petals  fall  in  a  rosy  shower,  leaving  a 
ring  of  leaves  and  thorns.)  A  chaplet  of  roses,  did  I  call 
it?  Behold,  it  is  a  crown  of  thorns!  (Bianca  shrinks  back, 
clasping  her  hands  on  her  breast.  The  two  women  stand 
gazing  into  each  other  s  eyes,  Bianca  s  spirit  battling  with 
the  solemn  inspiration  of  Sister  Maddalena  s.  Suddenly  a 
smile  of  ineffable  sweetness  and  triumph  flashes  across  the 
Sister  s  face.)  O  blessed  crown  of  thorns !  Yet  shall  you 
wear  it !  Yet  shall  you  come !  My  soul  doth  magnify 
the  Lord,  and  my  spirit  hath  rejoiced  in  God  my  Maker! 
(She  turns  silently  and  goes  out.) 

BIANCA  (half  starting  after  her).  Sister  —  I (She  checks 

herself  and  gazes  about  as  if  trying  to  shake  off  some  power 
ful  impression.)  What  did  she  say?  Yet  should  I  come? 
I?  I? — The  crown  of  thorns!  And  scorned  me  in  my 
own  palace  and  I  was  dumb!  And  knew  of  whom  I 
questioned  and  of  my  sin  !  Fool !  she  had  met  de'  Medici's 
messenger  —  or  perhaps  by  this  it  is  common  talk.  Fool 
that  I  am ! 

(Enter  servant.) 

25 


THE  TOCSIN 

SERVANT.    A  messenger  from  Florence,  from  his  Reverence 

the  Abbot  of  San  Raffaello. 
BIANCA.    Bring  him  in. 

( Enter  Marianna  and  Er other  Sebastiano^) 
BIANCA  (to  Marianna).    Well,  pretty  boy! 
MARIANNA.    The  Reverend  Father  is  at  the  gate. 
BIANCA.    Why  at  the  gate?    Run  and  fetch  him  in. 
MARIANNA.    The  Reverend  Father  bade  me  say  the  plague 

is  not  yet  in  Florence.   We  bring  no  contagion,  but  every 

hour  it  creeps  nearer,  and  so 

BIANCA.    So  he  makes  haste  to  our  pure  mountain  air.    A 

thousand  welcomes  to  him !    Run  child  and  tell  him. 
MARIANNA.    But  his  Reverence  is  not  alone. 
BIANCA.    Whom  has  he  with  him? 
MARIANNA.    Sir  Walter  Howard,  Count  Salviati  and  half 

the  convent,  gracious  lady. 
BIANCA.    The  more  the  merrier.  (She  turns  up  Marianna  s 

face  and  strokes  her  cheek.)    I  prefer  you  to  old  shaven 

pate  there.    Now  run.    (Exeunt  Marianna  and  Brother 

Sebastiano.    Bianca  turns  to  the  servant.)    Has  the  Grand 

Duke's  messenger  gone  ? 
SERVANT.    Yes,  my  lady. 

(She  goes  to  the  table  and  stands  brooding,  her  hand  on 

the  casket.    Enter  a  servant,  throwing  open  the  door.) 
SERVANT.    His  Reverence,  the  Abbot  of  San  Raffaello ! 

(Enter  the  Abbot,  followed  by  a  train  of  monks.) 
ABBOT  (kissing  Bianca  s  hand).    My  fair  cousin. 
BIANCA.    Welcome. 

ABBOT  (laughing).    And  all  my  white  lambs? 
BIANCA.    Every  one. 
ABBOT.    Poor  devils,  they  were  no  more  eager  than  was 

their  shepherd,  to  lie  down  with  the  lion. 

26 


THE  TOCSIN 

BIANCA.    And  the  Count  and  Sir  Walter? 

ABBOT.    Stopping  to  shake  the  dust  from  their  fineries. 

BIANCA.    I  warrant  you  made  good  time  from  Florence. 

ABBOT.  Yes,  each  for  himself  and  the  devil  take  the  hind 
most,  though  never  dream  his  name  was  mentioned! 
Such  a  pattering  of  aves  and  paternosters  you  never 
heard. 

BIANCA.    I  can  fancy  it! 

ABBOT.  By  the  mass,  I  had  forgotten  we  could  boast  so 
much  pious  learning  among  us. 

BIANCA.    And  you  rode  on  Saladin? 

ABBOT.  Yes,  I — or  rather  Brother  Sebastiano  there.  Re 
morse  had  made  him  faint. 

BIANCA.    And  you  rode 

ABBOT.  Shanks'  mare.  Not  another  to  be  had  for  love  or 
money. 

BIANCA.    What!  you  all  this  way  on  foot? 

ABBOT.  Brother  Sebastiano  is  but  an  indifferent  horseman. 
I  found  it  wise  to  have  an  occasional  hand  on  the  bridle. 

BIANCA.    All  those  miles!    (She  pours  wine  for  him.) 

ABBOT.  And  when  the  paternosters  flagged,  I  kept  up  the 
brothers'  hearts  by  tales  from  Boccaccio 

BIANCA.    Are  those  in  your  breviary  ? 

ABBOT.  Which,  to  tell  the  truth,  when  Gabriello's  eyes 
were  on  me  I  softened  a  bit.  But  such  a  searching  of 
hearts  as  we  had  before  leaving  Florence ! 

BIANCA.    A  conversion? 

ABBOT.  Hidden  iniquities  brought  to  light!  Secret  sins! 
The  plague  turned  us  inside  out  as  a  pickpocket  a  rifled 
purse. 

BIANCA.    Even  you  ? 

ABBOT.    On  tiptoe  for  the  confessional.    But  as  a  lover  of 

27 


THE   TOCSIN 

fair  ladies,  Bianca,  let  me  warn  you  to  avoid  repentance. 
It  spoils  the  complexion.  Brother  Sebastiano  has  not 
got  his  color  yet. 

BIANCA.    I  will  take  warning. 

ABBOT  (touching  her  cheek  lightly).    A  suspicion  of  pallor? 

BIANCA.    It  is  nothing. 

ABBOT.  No  teasing  imp  of  remorse,  I  trust,  concerning  pil 
fered  Burgundy,  or — a  neighbor's  husband? 

BIANCA  (turning  hastily  to  a  servant).  I  am  forgetting  these 
good  brothers.  Give  them  food  and  wine.  (Exeunt  the 
monks.) 

ABBOT.  Do  you  harbor  a  nunnery  here?  What  was  that 
gray  shadow  that  flitted  past  us  as  we  came  in  ? 

BIANCA.    A  sister  of  St.  Francis. 

ABBOT.  Ugh.  The  mere  sweep  of  her  robe  chilled  me  to 
the  bone.  Her  face  was  as  white  as  her  coif.  Poor  fool, 
I  dare  swear  she  has  not  tasted  meat  this  twelvemonth. 

(Enter  Marianna.    She  goes  to  the  Abbot  and  hands  him 
a  large  >  gold  watch.) 

MARIANNA.   Your  Reverence. 

ABBOT.    What  ?   I  left  the  friend  of  my  bosom  behind  me  ? 

MARIANNA.    Brother  Angelo  rode  after  us  with  it. 

ABBOT.    I  would  as  lief  lose  my  mitre. 

BIANCA.  And  do  these  curious  little  toys  really  keep  the 
time? 

ABBOT.  Why,  Bianca,  there  is  a  saying  in  Florence,  "  True 
as  the  Abbot's  watch."  Gabriello,  you  shall  hear  some 
time  how  I  came  by  it,  and  of  my  great  sermon,  and 

make  round  eyes  as  you  do  at  my  tales.   Why,  boy 

(A  heavy  bell  from  outside  rings  sharply?)    Hark ! 

BIANCA.  The  courtyard  bell !  ( The  bell  sounds  again  clam 
orously?)  What  can  that  mean  ? 

28 


THE  TOCSIN 

MARIANNA.  Brother  Angelo  said  he  saw  a  troop  of  armed 
men  riding  this  way  post-haste. 

ABBOT.  Bernardo  must  be  calling  your  men-at-arms  to 
gether.  (Going  toward  the  door.)  I  will  see  what  it  means. 

BIANCA.    The  country  is  thick  with  marauders. 

(As  the  Abbot  reaches  the  door  it  is  flung  violently  open 
and  Lorenzo,  escorted  by  two  soldiers  of  the  Papal  Guard, 
rushes  in.  Marianna  half  starts  toward  him,  then  draws 
back.) 

ABBOT.    Lorenzo! 

LORENZO.    You  here,  Reverend  Father! 

ABBOT.    And  you,  under  Papal  guard ! 

LORENZO.  Where  is  Sir  Walter  Howard?  I  have  papers 
for  him.  I  am  under  sentence  of  death. 

( The  Abbot  with  an  inarticulate  cry  of  horror  throws 
one  arm  about  Lorenzo  s  shoulder?) 

BIANCA.    Death ! 

LORENZO.  I  had  audience  with  His  Holiness,  private  letters 
to  deliver.  In  reaching  for  them  in  my  bosom  a  loaded 
pistol  fell  to  the  ground. 

ABBOT  (with  a  cry  of  anguish).    My  boy! 

BIANCA.    Ah,  the  new  edict! 

LORENZO.  Yes,  death  to  carry  loaded  weapons  in  the  pres 
ence  of  His  Holiness. 

ABBOT.  But  this  is  not  Papal  territory.  Surely  the  Grand 
Duke 

LORENZO.  The  Grand  Duke  was  there  and  confirmed  the 
decree. 

ABBOT.    My  God ! 

LORENZO.  Where  is  Sir  Walter?  I  am  alive  for  an  hour 
only.  This  packet  I  have  sworn  on  the  Holy  Sacrament 
to  deliver  into  his  hands. 

29 


THE   TOCSIN 

BIANCA.    And  then? 

LORENZO.    Shot. 

( The  deep  emotion  which  appeared  almost  to  overwhelm 
the  Abbot  gives  place  to  a  controlled  composure.  He  speaks 
rapidly  but  as  a  man  with  all  his  senses  quickened  and 
calmed  by  the  necessity  for  aftion} 

ABBOT  (to  a  servant}.  Call  Sir  Walter.  (Exit  the  servant. 
The  Abbot  turns  to  Lorenzo.)  How  many  men  have  you  ? 
(Lorenzo  goes  to  the  door  and  opens  it  silently r,  disclosing  a 
row  of  armed  men.)  And  this  castle  musters  —  see,  the 
window  ledge  and  the  ivy  will  take  you  down.  We  can 
master  these  two  men  silently — then 

LORENZO.    My  word. 

ABBOT.    Child's  play. 

LORENZO.    I  swore  it. 

ABBOT.  A  curse  on  your  woman's  breeding!  I  am  your 
father  confessor ;  I  absolve  you.  I  will  swear  to  Sixtus  I 
forced  you. 

LORENZO.  And  answer  for  it  with  your  life!  (Enter  Sir 
Walter}  Ah,  Sir  Walter !  (He  draws  him  apart} 

BIANCA  (opening  a  curtained  recess}.  You  can  be  private 
here. 

(Lorenzo,  Sir  Walter  and  the  guards  enter  the  recess. 
Eianca  closes  the  curtain.  Marianna  remains  in  the  back 
ground} 

ABBOT  (to  Eianca}.  A  forlorn  hope,  but  I  will  post  to  Pis- 
toia,  see  His  Holiness 

BIANCA.    Are  you  in  such  favor  there? 

ABBOT.  Bad  odor  enough,  with  my  lax  rule.  ( Hurries  to 
the  door} 

BIANCA  (following  and  detaining  him}.  I  know  a  better  way. 
The  Grand  Duke 

3° 


THE   TOCSIN 

ABBOT  (turning  eagerly).    Ah! 

BIANCA.  Sixtus  sups  tonight  with  the  Grand  Duke.  He 
desires  of  all  things  to  keep  friendship  with  Florence.  I 
will  ask  Lorenzo's  life  of  the  Grand  Duke ! 

ABBOT  (seizing  her  hand  with  a  burst  of  hope).    And  when 

Bianca  sues 

( Marianna,  breathless,  steals  unobserved  nearer) 

BIANCA.    One  of  the  brothers  shall  take  my  message. 

MARIANNA  (starting  forward  and  clutching  the  Abbot's  robe). 
No  —  I — I  will  take  the  message! 

ABBOT  (seizing  Marianna  roughly).    Eavesdropping! 

MARIANNA  (sinking  her  eyes).  When  it  concerns  the  fate 
of  one  you  love ! 

BIANCA.    Is  the  boy  to  be  trusted? 

MARIANNA.  Yes,  yes!  O  gracious  lady,  they  rescued  me 
from  death  at  the  abbey.  (Turning  to  the  Abbot  again) 
Trust  me,  trust  me!  O  Reverend  Father,  let  me  go! 

BIANCA.  The  boy's  face  will  be  a  passport.  ('The  Abbot 
rings  a  bell  for  a  servant.)  Here,  child  (to  Marianna, 
drawing  off  a  ring),  post  to  the  palace,  demand  entrance. 
Insist  this  ring  shall  reach  the  hands  of  the  Grand  Duke. 
He  will  see  you.  Say  to  him,  "  Bianca  delle  Torre  asks 
her  first  favor  of  Francesco  de'  Medici  —  the  life  of  her 
cousin's  ward,  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni,"  and  here (Bi 
anca  goes  to  the  table  and  writes  a  few  lines,  Marianna 
standing  by.) 

ABBOT  (to  servant  who  enters).  Bernardo  and  five  of  his 
men  shall  ride  with  this  boy  to  Pistoia.  A  hundred  gold 
pieces  to  each  if  they  are  back  before  the  hour.  Now 
Gabriello  —  laggard  —  off,  off"!  (Exeunt  Marianna  and 
servant.) 

BIANCA.    Who  is  the  boy  ? 

31 


THE  TOCSIN 

ABBOT.  Brother  Sebastiano  picked  him  up  more  dead  than 
alive  by  the  roadside.  He  is  country  bred,  that  is  all  I 
know.  I  have  had  him  by  me  and  he  seems  to  cling  to 
me  in  a  dumb  way. 

BIANCA.    He  found  speech  tonight. 

ABBOT  (as  the  clock  strikes).  Ah!  that  must  be  mended. 
(He  sets  back  the  hands  of  the  clock)  Too  fast  by  a  half- 
hour. 

BIANCA.    But  there  are  other  clocks  on  the  castle. 

ABBOT.    Then  make  them  tell  the  same  tale. 

BIANCA.    That  is  soon  done.    (Exit  Bianca.) 

ABBOT  (opening  the  window,  through  which  comes  a  rapid 
clatter  of  hoofs).  There  they  go!  There's  Gabriello ! 
Why,  the  boy  is  mad.  The  mare  can  never  keep  that 
pace.  ( <The  clatter  grows  fainter.)  Five  minutes  to  the 
city  gate,  three  to  the  palace,  then  delays,  delays !  Out 
of  sight  now,  behind  the  cypresses. 
(Enter  Bianca.) 

BIANCA  (pointing  to  the  recess).  Still  closeted  with  Sir 
Walter? 

ABBOT.  Those  cursed  plots!  And  it  was  I  got  the  boy 
into  this  coil ! 

BIANCA  (seating  herself).  Surely  you  have  no  interest  in 
Mary  of  Scotland? 

ABBOT.  I  sent  Lorenzo  out  of  the  country  to  keep  him 
from  an  act  of  folly.  What  piece  of  womanhood  do  you 
think  he  was  mad  to  marry? 

BIANCA.    His  mistress  —  like  the  Grand  Duke? 

ABBOT.  Why,  the  boy  is  an  anchorite.  No,  a  peasant  girl, 
a  contadina  off  his  estates  here  in  the  Apennines.  Marry, 
I  say ! 

BIANCA.    Is  he  simple? 

32 


THE   TOCSIN 

ABBOT.  Was  I  not,  to  let  him  follow  his  bent  and  grow  up 
in  that  mountain  tower  of  his  with  peasants  and  holy 
sisters  as  his  companions  ?  (He  seats  himself  near  Bianca.) 

BIANCA  (starting).    What  holy  sisters? 

ABBOT.    You  have  heard  of  Sister  Maddalena  ? 

BIANCA.    She  again! 

ABBOT.  Lorenzo  first  came  under  her  spell  and  was  all  for 
the  cloister,  but  now  it  is  marriage  and  his  contadina.  In 
that  Arcadia,  you  see,  they  still  believe  in  God  and 
love. 

BIANCA.  Perhaps  at  his  age  you  too  held  love  worthy  of  a 
shrine. 

ABBOT.    Of  a  shrine,  yes ;  of  worship,  yes ;  of  belief,  hardly. 

BIANCA.    Subtle  distinction  for  the  brain  of  a  woman. 

ABBOT.  Do  I  not  worship  your  proud  eyes,  but,  pardon 
me,  do  I  believe  in  them  ? 

BIANCA.  A  little  more  belief  and  they  might  have  proved 
worthier. 

ABBOT.  Is  belief  so  potent  a  god?  Come,  let  us  believe  in 
one  another  and  be  saints  instead  of  sinners.  (He  rises 
and  goes  to  the  window,  then  returns. )  Countess ! 

BIANCA.    Cousin ! 

ABBOT.    What  all  England  failed  to  do,  you  can. 

BIANCA.    What  is  that  ? 

ABBOT.    Win  me  my  boy  away  from  this  folly. 

BIANCA.    I  ? 

ABBOT.  A  glance,  a  smile,  a  what  you  will,  and  in  the  dip 
of  a  swallow's  wing,  he  is  yours. 

BIANCA.    And  the  little  peasant  maid  ? 

ABBOT.    I  will  send  her  a  pair  of  earrings. 

BIANCA  (with  sudden  passion).  And  why  do  you  choose  me 
for  this?  Do  you  think  there  are  not  enough  of  you 

33 


THE   TOCSIN 

men  about  me  fawning  and  flattering  and  lying,  but  I 

must  stoop  to  your  devil's  work? 

ABBOT.    Well,  let  it  lie.    Let  the  boy   marry  his  coarse- 
skinned  beauty.    What  does  it  matter? 
BIANCA  (bitterly).  Yes,  what  does  it  matter?   He  will  forget 

her  in  time.    As  well  now  as  then. 
ABBOT.    Then  I  can  count  on  you? 
BIANCA.    I  am  weary  of  it  all! 
ABBOT.    Still,  if  he  lives,  you  will  help  me.    ( He  goes  to  the 

window  and  opens  it.  A  faint  sound  of  distant  bells  is  heard.) 

Hark !  the  bells  of  Pistoia  striking  the  hour. 

(Enter  the  Captain  of  the  Papal  Guard  and  his  men.    The 

Abbot  hastily  closes  the  window.) 
CAPTAIN.    The  prisoner. 

(Enter  from  the  recess  two  guards,  Lorenzo  and  Sir 

Walter.) 
ABBOT  (pointing  to  the  clock).    Not  yet — the  clock  is  not 

yet  on  the  hour. 
CAPTAIN.    The  cathedral  chimes  are  striking.    Your  clock 

is  slow. 
BIANCA.    Pardon  me,  sir,  this  clock  is  absolutely  true. 

CAPTAIN.    But  the  cathedral  chimes 

ABBOT.    It  was  the  quarter  you  heard.    But  there  are  other 

clocks  in  the  castle.    Send  one  of  your  men  to  verify 

this. 

CAPTAIN.    I  will  go  myself. 
BIANCA.    And  I  will  show  you  the  way. 
CAPTAIN.    You  honor  me,  gracious  lady.    (Exeunt  Bianca, 

Sir  Walter  and  Captain.    The  soldiers  take  their  station  by 

the  door.    The  Abbot  and  Lorenzo  come  forward.) 
LORENZO  (giving  him  a  packet).    For  Sister  Maddalena. 
ABBOT.    Where  is  the  sister  ? 

34 


THE   TOCSIN 

LORENZO.  Wherever  death  is  busiest;  and  this  (giving  the 
Abbot  another  packet),  you  will  send  a  trusty  messenger 
with  this  to  Marianna  —  O  Father!  ('Turns  away.) 

ABBOT.    Why,  courage,  my  boy. 

LORENZO.    And  now  to  make  my  peace  with  Heaven ! 

ABBOT.    You  are  not  going  to  Heaven  yet. 

LORENZO.  To  the  chapel.  The  Holy  Sacrament,  Rever 
end  Father,  before  I  die. 

ABBOT.  Die  ?  Why,  faint  heart,  there  is  a  friend  even  now 
pleading  for  you  with  His  Holiness. 

LORENZO.    Sister  Maddalena? 

ABBOT.    Francesco  de*  Medici. 

LORENZO.    He  is  no  friend  of  mine. 

ABBOT.  No,  but  of  our  Countess.  She  has  sent  a  messen 
ger  to  beg  your  life. 

LORENZO.  Why  should  de'  Medici  do  her  that  grace  ?  Is 
it  true  then  that  she 

ABBOT.  Hush !  Ask  why  of  a  woman  ?  Come,  lift  up  your 
head  and  gloriously  embrace  your  life  when  it  comes 
back  to  you. 

LORENZO.    The  gift  of  a  wanton ! 
(Enter  Bianca  and  Captain.) 

BIANCA.    The  clocks  all  tell  the  same  tale. 

CAPTAIN.    With  a  singular  uniformity. 

ABBOT  (to  the  Captain).  Well,  then,  a  little  patience.  Death 
will  wait,  and  till  we  are  ready  for  him,  with  the  permis 
sion  of  the  Countess,  a  cup  of  wine  together.  (He  goes 
with  the  Captain  to  the  table  by  the  fireplace.) 

BIANCA.  Be  seated,  gentlemen.  ( They  seat  themselves  and 
talk.  Lorenzo  stands  moodily  in  the  foreground.  Bianca  goes 
to  him.  He  pays  no  attention.) 

BIANCA.    Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? 

35 


THE  TOCSIN 

LORENZO  (roughly).    You   have  done   too   much    already, 

Countess. 

BIANCA.    I  do  not  understand. 
LORENZO.    Can  you  shrive  me?    There  is  the  Reverend 

Father  at  his  cups,  and  in  a  half-hour  I  shall  be  dead  in 

a  ditch  without  bell  or  book. 
BIANCA.    Do  you  not  see  we  must  blind  the  Captain  to  our 

tampering  with  the  clocks  ?    Keep  up  hope.    The  pardon 

must  come. 
LORENZO.    Not  at  this  price.    No,  I  will  not  touch  it.    I 

have  had  clean  hands  till  now. 
BIANCA.    I  do  not  follow  you.   Why  do  you  turn  from  me  ? 

Clean  hands  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  You  will  not  speak  ? 

Not  look  at  me?    Holy  saints!    I  hope  there  is  nothing 

on  your  conscience  that  your  eyes  cannot  meet  mine. 
LORENZO.    (Lifts  his  eyes  slowly  and  fixes  them  on  Bianca. 

She  gazes  back  with  a  long  direct  look,    They  stand  silent 

awhile?)   And  yet  you  look 

BIANCA.    Look ? 

LORENZO.    Why  should  de'  Medici  grant  you  this  favor? 
BIANCA.   Why  should  he?  Why?   (Turns  away.)   Ah,  that 

was  why  you  could  not  look  at  me.    By  St.  Agnes!    I 

believe  you  were  thinking  evil  of  me. 

LORENZO.    Forgive  me  —  but  they  say  —  they  say 

BIANCA  (proudly).    No  more.    My  pity  for  you  made  me 

blind.    I  forgot  here  in   my  secluded  widowhood   how 

cruelly  the  world  may  misjudge  a  woman. 
LORENZO.    I  was  a  brute.    I  had  not  looked  in  your  face. 

But  now 

BIANCA.    Let  me  tell  you  why  the  Grand  Duke  is  kind  to 

me. 
LORENZO.    No,  no!    Your  eyes  have  explained  all. 

36 


THE  TOCSIN 

BIANCA.  But  you  shall  hear  me.  When  the  Grand  Duke 
married  Bianca  Cappello 

LORENZO.    Do  not  speak  of  Bianca  Cappello ! 

BIANCA.  But  I  bear  her  name,  Bianca  —  and  I  too  am  from 
Venice  —  and  at  the  wedding  pageants  (I  was  a  child 
then),  they  dressed  me  in  white  and  I  carried  a  golden 
casket  holding  a  milk-white  dove.  And  I  knelt  at  their 
feet  and  presented  the  dove,  but  the  bird  flew  back  and 
nestled  in  my  breast.  And  the  Grand  Duke  was  touched 
and  asked  my  name,  and  when  I  said  Bianca,  told  me  for 
that  name  I  should  always  be  dear  to  his  heart. 

LORENZO.  The  white  dove  nestles  still  in  your  breast.  Can 
you  forgive  me?  (He  takes  her  hand.  "They  move  back, 
talking.) 

CAPTAIN  (laughing).  Very  good,  Reverend  Father,  but  the 
time !  (He  rises  and  looks  at  the  clock.) 

ABBOT.  But  Monsignor's  answer  was  still  better.  He 
said 

CAPTAIN.  One  moment,  Reverend  Father,  that  watch  of 
your  Reverence's  —  that  famous  watch  they  talk  of  in 
Florence,  and  which  never  lies, —  has  your  Reverence  that 
with  you  ? 

BIANCA  (aside  to  Lorenzo).    Alas,  we  forgot  to  set  it  back! 

ABBOT  (rising  and  standing  by  chimney).  Unfortunately  I 
left  it  in  the  monastery. 

CAPTAIN.  And  yet  as  I  sat  by  you  just  now  I  could  have 
sworn  I  heard  it  ticking. 

ABBOT  (thrusting  his  hand  in  his  robe).  You  are  right.  I 
forgot.  Brother  Angelo  posted  after  me  with  it. 

CAPTAIN.  I  have  a  curiosity  to  see  one  of  these  little  bosom 
consciences.  (He  approaches  the  Abbot  and  holds  out  his 
hand.) 

37 


THE  TOCSIN 

ABBOT.  With  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world.  (He  draws  the 
watch  out  and  as  he  does  so,  drops  it,  as  it  were  inadver 
tently  on  the  marble  hearth,  with  a  crash.  All  start  for 
ward.) 

ABBOT.    Per  Bacco  ! 

BIANCA.    What  a  misfortune ! 

LORENZO.    Your  famous  watch ! 

CAPTAIN.    Most  singular  calamity. 

ABBOT  (picking  it  up).  I  shall  have  to  preach  another 
sermon. 

CAPTAIN  (to  Lorenzo).   Your  time  is  short. 

(Abbot  hastens  to  the  window  and  opens  it.  Lorenzo 
joins  him.) 

ABBOT.    The  moon  is  out  again. 

BIANCA  (to  the  Captain).  Come  and  sit  by  the  fire,  Signor, 
the  night  is  cold. 

CAPTAIN  (pointing  to  the  clock).    Pardon  me,  lady. 

ABBOT  ( at  the  window ).  A  horse,  a  horse — riderless —  no ! 
the  boy  bent  low  over  the  saddle  bow! 

CAPTAIN.    The  prisoner  will  make  his  farewells. 

( "The  Abbot  leans  breathless  out  of  the  window.  'The 
distant  clatter  of  horses  hoofs  is  heard  drawing  nearer. 
Lorenzo  falls  at  the  Abbot' s  feet  and  takes  his  hand.  Bianca 
joins  them  and  looks  over  the  AbbotJs  shoulder.) 

LORENZO.    Your  blessing,  Father. 

ABBOT  (paying  no  attention  to  Lorenzo).  Past  the  campanile, 
the  cypresses,  now  the  long  loop  in  the  road.  What!  He 
leaps  the  wall  and  tears  across  the  gorse !  ( The  clatter 
ceases.)  Brave  boy !  Mad  boy !  The  mare  can  never  take 
the  next  wall ! 

BIANCA.  Holy  Virgin,  he  has  leapt  it!  (The  clatter  of  hoofs 
is  heard  again  louder  and  louder.  The  clock  begins  to  strike.) 

38 


THE   TOCSIN 

CAPTAIN  (to  the  guard}.    The  prisoner! 

( The  guard  approach  Lorenzo,  who  rises.   The  hoof-beats 

cease?) 

ABBOT.    At  the  gate ! 
LORENZO.    Father,  your  blessing.    (The  guard  form  about 

Lorenzo.} 
CAPTAIN.    March!    (As  the  clock  is  on  the  last  stroke  of 

twelve,  the  door  is  thrown  open  and  Marianna  rushes  in 

waving  a  paper.    Lorenzo's  back  is  turned.) 
MARIANNA  (breathlessly   and  faintly).    The    pardon,   the 

pardon ! 

(The  Abbot  snatches  the  paper  from  her.) 
ABBOT.    The  pardon ! 

(The  soldiers  draw  away  from  Lorenzo  who  falls  at 

Bianca's  feet  and  kisses  her  hand.) 
LORENZO.    You  have  saved  my  life ! 

MARIANNA  ( at  the  door).    No,  I  —  I 

(No  one  observes  her.    She  looks  at  Bianca  and  Lorenzo, 

throws  up  her  arms  with  a  gesture  of  despair  and  hurries 

from  the  room.) 
ABBOT  ( looking  up  from  the  pardon ).    But  the  boy,  Gabriello, 

where  is  he? 


39 


ACT  III 

A  green  meadow  with  Castle  delle  'Torre  in  the  background. 
Behind  its  towers  rise  the  peaks  of  the  Apennines.  In  the 
center  is  a  wayside  shrine  to  the  Virgin,  approached  by  broad 
stone  steps  and  a  stone  platform.  Sister  Maddalena  is  kneel- 
ing  at  the  top  of  the  steps  before  the  shrine.  A  peasant  and 
his  wife  enter  ^  leading  a  child,  its  hands  full  of  field  flowers. 

PEASANT  WOMAN  (to  the  child).  Yes,  Lillo  shall  be  lifted 
up  in  my  arms  and  shall  lay  the  pretty  flowers  himself 
at  the  feet  of  Madonna. 

PEASANT  (pointing  to  Sister  Maddalena).  Ah,  a  sister  of 
St.  Francis. 

PEASANT  WOMAN.  Blessed  saints !  I  know  her  by  her 
worn  hands!  It  is  the  Holy  Sister  Maddalena!  (She 
sinks  on  her  knees  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  and  pulls  the 
child  down  after  her.)  Look,  little  one !  It  was  she  saved 
you  from  death  when  the  fever  was  on  you. 

PEASANT  (kneeling  and  taking  off  his  hat).   Quiet,  little  one! 

PEASANT  WOMAN  (to  her  husband).  Run,  Niccolo,  and 
fetch  old  Bratti  and  the  miller's  daughter,  that  she  may 
lay  her  blessed  hands  on  them  and  cure  them. 

4o 


THE   TOCSIN 

PEASANT  (rising).  Well  said.  (He  goes  out  softly.  The  woman 
tells  her  beadsy  while  the  child,  weary  with  kneeling,  sinks 
into  a  sitting  'posture  and  -plays  with  his  flowers.  Three 
peasant  girls  enter  with  their  hoes  and  baskets.  The  woman 
motions  to  them  and  whispers!) 

PEASANT  WOMAN.  The  Holy  Sister  Maddalena !  She  who 
saved  my  Lillo. 

( The  girls  look  awestruck,  and  one  whispers, "  Ah,  the 
holy  saint ! "  They  cross  themselves  and  kneel.  One  begins 
softly  to  sing  an  A<ve  Maria,  the  others  take  it  up.  Sister 
Maddalena  stirs,  but  still  prays,  kneeling.  As  the  hymn  dies 
away  the  peasant  returns  leading  a  decrepit  old  man  and 
followed  by  a  pale  young  girl.) 

PEASANT  (to  his  charges).  Here,  close  to  the  steps,  so  that 
her  blessing  may  fall  first  on  you. 

( They  kneel.  Sister  Maddalena  stirs,  raises  her  hands  to 
Heaven  and  rising  slowly  turns  and  looks  down  on  the  kneel 
ing  group.  They  gaze  at  her  in  awe.  She  lets  her  eyes  rest 
silently  and  solemnly  on  each,  standing  up  tall  and  pale  in 
her  gray  Franciscan  robe.  Her  eyes  fall  full  of  pity  on  old 
Eratti  and  the  miller  s  daughter?) 

PEASANT  WOMAN.   Your  blessing,  Holy  Sister. 

ALL.    Bless  us,  bless  us. 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  I  can  but  pray  for  you.  Heaven 
alone  blesses. 

PEASANT  WOMAN  {holding  up  Lillo)'.  See,  Holy  Sister,  the 
little  one.  He  was  sick  to  death  when  you  passed  here 
in  the  spring,  and  you  laid  your  hands  upon  him  and 
now  he  leaps  like  a  young  kid.  ( Taking  old  Eratti  ys  hand) 
Lay  your  blessed  hands  on  this  old  man,  Madonna. 

SISTER  MADDALENA  {descending  the  steps  slowly  and  laying 
her  hand  on  Eratti* s  head).  You  will  not  suffer  long. 

41 


THE  TOCSIN 

(She  turns  to  the  miller's  daughter.)    You  should  be  in 
your  bed.    Where  do  you  live? 

MILLER'S  DAUGHTER.    In  the  mill  yonder,  Sister. 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    Go  home.    I  will  come  to  you  soon. 

MILLER'S  DAUGHTER.    And  stay  with  us,  Sister? 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    No.    They  need  me  in  Florence. 

ALL  (clamoring).  In  Florence  ?  O  Holy  Sister,  the  pestilence, 
the  pestilence !  You  will  die !  Do  not  leave  us !  Do  not 
go  to  Florence !  ( They  cluster  about  her,  kissing  her  hands 
and  the  hem  of  her  garments.  She  tries  to  prevent  them.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    Not  to  me!    Not  to  me! 

(Enter  Marianna  in  peasant's  dress.  She  falls  on  her 
knees  before  Sister  Maddalena,  who  stoops  and  raises  her 
tenderly.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    Marianna! 

MARIANNA.    O  Sister,  Sister ! 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (with  authority  to  the  peasants).    Go 
now.    (fo  the  miller's  daughter.}    I   will   come   to   you 
soon.    (Exeunt  all  but  Sister  Maddalena  and  Marianna.) 
You  promised  to  be  at  the  gate. 

MARIANNA.  Do  not  reproach  me.  O  Sister,  let  me  lay  my 
head  on  your  breast,  for  I  am  sick  unto  death. 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    Where  is  the  pain,  little  one  ? 

MARIANNA.    Here  in  my  heart. 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    The  Holy  Virgin  will  comfort  you. 

MARIANNA  (looking  up  and  pointing  off,  with  a  shrinking  fear). 
O  angeli  beati!  they  are  here.  Come  away,  Sister. 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (turning  in  the  direction  in  which  Mari 
anna  is  pointing,  and  starting  as  with  a  great  thrill).  The 
Father  in  white !  Who  is  he  ?  Who  is  he  ? 

MARIANNA.  The  Abbot  of  San  Raffaelio.  O  Sister,  come 
away! 


THE  TOCSIN 

SISTER  MAD DALENA.  Abbot?  Simple  priest,  then.  But  he 
it  is,  none  other.  "  O  Lord,  now  lettest  thou  thy  servant 
depart  in  peace  !  " 

MARIANNA  (plucking  at  Sister  Maddalena's  robe).  Come, 
Sister. 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (unmindful  of  Marianna ).  To  speak 
to  him  before  I  die! 

MARIANNA.    Not  now !    O  Sister,  come ! 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  Wandering  in  green  fields,  and  Flor 
ence  dying?  (Checking  herself.)  Peace!  That  I  should 
dare  question  the  ways  of  the  Lord's  anointed.  Yet  shall 
he  bless  me  before  I  go !  ( She  starts  away,  oblivious  of 
Marianna,  who  clings  to  her  robe.) 

MARIANNA  (piteously).   You  too  forsake  me? 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  Let  me  go.  (She  tries  to  unclasp 
Marianna' s  hands.) 

MARIANNA.    O  Sister,  my  heart  is  breaking ! 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (in  violent  agitation  and  almost  harshly). 
Do  not  stop  me.  Unclasp  your  hands. 

MARIANNA.    When  were  you  ever  deaf  to  me  before  ? 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (in  increasing  excitement,  while  her  whole 
body  seems  to  sway  in  the  direftion  in  which  her  eyes  are 
straining).  The  Lord  has  promised  me.  I  prayed  but 
one  thing  of  the  Lord,  that  I  might  meet  once  more, 
face  to  face,  mine  angel  of  deliverance,  fall  at  his  feet 

MARIANNA  (despairingly  and  letting  go  the  sister's  dress). 

He  does  not  need  you,  but  I,  I 

(Sister  Maddalena,  freed,  starts  forward.  Marianna, 
with  a  cry,  buries  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sinks  to  the 
ground.  At  the  cry  Sister  Maddalena  checks  her  flight,  turns 
and  looks  back.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (panting  with  the  violent  conflicJ  of  her 

43 


THE   TOCSIN 

emotions}.  O  Lord,  not  this  sacrifice !  Show  me  not  the 
Promised  Land  and  bind  my  feet!  The  time  is  short! 
(She  half  starts  away  once  more,  then  looks  back  and  echoes 
Marianna's  words.)  Not  need  me!  (She  utters  a  bitter 
cry.)  Alas,  how  should  the  cherished  of  the  Most  High 
need  such  as  I  ?  (A  deep  quivering  sigh  bursts  from  her 
lips.  The  light  fades  from  her  face.  Her  arms  fall  to  her 
sides.  She  turns  slowly  to  Marianna,  an  expression  of  in 
finite  pity  creeping  into  her  eyes  as  she  looks  down  on  her. 
She  opens  her  arms  with  a  gesture  of  noble  and  tender  pro- 
tecJion.)  Come,  little  one.  (Marianna  leaps  to  her  feet 
and  throws  herself  on  Sister  Maddalena's  breast;  then  lifting 
her  head  gazes  off  and  points  as  in  an  agony.) 

MARIANNA.  Lorenzo!  Come,  come  away.  (She  draws  the 
sister  feverishly  by  the  robe  and  they  go  out.) 

(Enter  from  grove  Lorenzo  and  Bianca,  Lorenzo  carry 
ing  a  spray  of  white  hawthorn?) 

BIANCA.    We  have  outstripped  the  rest. 

LORENZO  {looking  off  in  evident  agitation).  Sister  Madda- 
lena  ?  No,  it  cannot  be. 

BIANCA  {absorbed  in  trying  to  gain  his  attention  and  with  an 
evident  undercurrent  of  fear  lest  she  may  not).  You  do  not 
thank  me  for  having  given  them  the  slip  ?  And  all  for 
you. 

LORENZO  (coldly).  For  me  today.  For  whom  tomorrow? 
( He  turns  away.  Bianca  watches  him,  her  brow  contracting. 
She  fingers  her  dress  nervously,  then  approaches  him  and 
holds  out  her  hand  with  a  gesture  half  beseeching.) 

BIANCA.    I  wait.    My  hawthorn. 

LORENZO  (moodily).  It  was  not  of  you  I  thought  when  I 
pulled  it. 

BIANCA.    Of  whom,  then  ? 

44 


THE  TOCSIN 

(Lorenzo  moves  away  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground.  Sud 
denly  he  stands  motionless,  then  kneels  down  beside  a  tuft  of 
violets.  Bianca  follows  unobserved.) 

LORENZO.  Blue  violets !  ( He  puts  out  his  hand  as  if  to  touch 
them,  then  draws  it  away  as  if  stung.)  Marianna's  eyes! 

BIANCA  (aside).  Marianna's  eyes!  (Aloud.)  Why  did  you 
start  back  ? 

LORENZO.    Something  —  stung  me. 

BIANCA.    Still  they  are  sweet.    Pick  them. 

LORENZO  (covering  the  violet  tuft  with  a  swift  protecting 
gesture).  No! 

BIANCA.    Why  will  you  not  gather  them  ? 

LORENZO  (passionately).  Because  I  am  not  worthy,  not 
worthy,  O  my  God !  ( He  rises  and  turns  from  her,  and 
half  kneels  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  shrine.) 

BIANCA  (looking down  at  the  violets).  And  yet  I  could  crush 
them  with  my  foot.  (She  stands  musing,  then  goes  slowly 
toward  him.  He  does  not  turn.  She  stands  beside  him.  He 
keeps  his  eyes  turned  from  her.  She  lifts  her  hand  and 
lightly  touches  his  forehead  and  hair.)  You  look  pale, 
Lorenzino.  Pardon  my  touch,  but  those  little  damp 
curls  on  your  forehead  are  so  like  my  brother's,  who  died 
young.  (He  partly  turns  toward  her,  as  though  the  spell 
of  her  beauty  were  more  than  he  could  resist.  Bianca  still 
plays  with  his  hair.)  Why,  one  has  twined  round  my 
finger  like  a  betrothal  ring.  I  am  weary,  too,  Lorenzo 
mio.  Such  weariness  I  never  knew  before. 

LORENZO.    I  am  sorry. 

BIANCA.  I  was  waking  late  last  night  over  an  old  book 
of  poems.  One  stuck  in  my  memory.  I  hardly  know 
what  it  means.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me.  It  runs 
thus: 

45 


THE   TOCSIN 

"  Oh,  I've  a  Queen  rose  in  my  bower, 

(She  lays  one  hand  on  her  breast) 

But  the  white  hawthorn  is  in  flower ! 

(She  takes  the  spray  of  haw  thorn  from  his  unresisting  hand} 

Down  in  the  sunny  lane  it  blows, — 
Be  thou  patient,  my  royal  rose. 
I  have  a  mind  for  one  white  spray : 

(She  sighs) 

See,  I  will  wear  it  here  today ; 

(She  fastens  it  in  his  bosom,  reading  in  his  ardent  eyes  that 
she  has  conquered,  and  with  a  ring  of  triumph  in  her  voice) 

Only  today,  sweet  rustic  flower, 

For  I  have  a  Queen  rose  in  my  bower." 

(She  draws  herself  up  with  a  superb  gesture  and  flings 
back  her  head.) 

LORENZO  (tearing  the  hawthorn  from  his  bosom  and  throwing 
it  underfoot).  What  is  the  white  hawthorn  to  me  when 
I  have  my  Queen  rose  ?  (  He  tries  to  seize  her  hands  but 
she  draws  them  away  and  glides  off,  smiling  at  him  over  her 
shoulder.) 

BIANCA  (tantalizingly).  Have  you  your  Queen  rose?  (She 
points  back.)  Here  are  others  come  to  gather  it. 

LORENZO.  Never.  (He  seizes  her  hand  roughly.)  Come, 
you  shall  listen  to  me. 

BIANCA  (waving  her  hand  to  Count  Salviati  and  Sir  Walter 
who  enter  from  the  grove).  The  dance  is  beginning.  Make 
haste.  (They  start  forward,  but  Lorenzo  hurries  Bianca 

off.) 

SIR  WALTER  (pausing).    Fairly  outstripped  in  the  race. 
COUNT  SALVIATI  (shrugging  his  shoulders).    And  by  a  mere 

boy.    My  scheme,  too.    She  plays  her  part  well, —  if  it  is 

a  part. 

46 


THE  TOCSIN 

(Enter  the  Abbot , poring  over  an  open  scroll.) 

SIR  WALTER.    What  does  his  Reverence  say  to  it? 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (to  the  Abbot).  Your  pardon  for  hurry 
ing  ahead.  Has  your  Reverence  observed  the  dance  our 
fair  will-o'-the-wisp  is  leading  your  ward  ? 

ABBOT  (with  off e  Red  solemnity).  Varium  et  mutabile  semper 
femina.  Gentlemen,  I  will  give  her  ghostly  counsel.  (  He 
seats  himself  on  the  stone  step.) 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  And  let  the  moral  be  the  shortness  of 
Lorenzo's  rent  roll  and  the  length  of  mine. 

SIR  WALTER  (pointing  in  the  direction  in  which  Bianca  and 
Lorenzo  have  gone).  See,  the  peasant  girls  are  gathered 
on  the  green. 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  And  there  is  the  music.  (The  sound  of 
distant  rustic  dance  music  is  heard.)  Surely  your  Rever 
ence  will  go  on  to  thefesta? 

ABBOT  (poring  over  his   scroll).    My  new  library  pleases 
me  better  than  your  thick-ankled  contadine.    See,  gentle 
men,  of  Carrara  marble  and  well  set  among  the  cypresses. 
(They  look  over  the  Abbot's  shoulder?) 

SIR  WALTER.    Your  Reverence's  taste  is  known. 

(Enter  Er  other  Sebastiano  hastily.    He  gives  a  paper  to 
the  Abbot.) 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    From  Florence,  Reverend  Father. 

ABBOT.  And  you  have  been  near  the  messenger?  Stand 
back.  ( He  opens  the  scroll  and  reads.)  "  The  streets  pop 
ulated  but  by  the  unburied  dead;  a  noisome  pall  hanging 
over  the  city ;  groans,  curses,  purple  corpses  heaped  in 

the   charnel-houses "    (As  he  reads  an    involuntary 

shudder  passes  over  him.  'The  repulsion  felt  by  a  beauty- 
loving  nature  for  the  foul  and  ugly  Jills  him  with  a  sickening 
disgust.  He  tears  the  paper  vehemently  into  bits.)  Pah ! 

47 


THE  TOCSIN 

the  Prior  used  not  to  have  such  bad  taste.  (Harshly  to 
Brother  Sebastiano.)  We  know  all  this.  Why  do  you  wait  ? 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    The  answer,  Reverend  Father. 

ABBOT.  What  answer?  Have  I  not  thrown  open  my  abbey 
to  the  miserable  wretches?  My  refectories ?  My  gar 
dens  ?  Go. 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    They  starve,  Reverend  Father. 

ABBOT.  Who  ?  The  dead  ?  There  are  none  but  the  dead 
left  in  Florence.  (He  turns  away,  then  perceiving  Brother 
Sebastiano  still  timidly  lingering,  he  fingers  a  ring  he  wears.) 
What,  not  yet  gone  ?  Here,  then.  (  He  draws  off  the  ring.) 
Take  that.  Sell  it  at  Pistoia,  and  mind,  at  its  worth. 
Prince  Farnese  gave  it  to  me.  (Brother  Sebastiano  turns 
to  go.)  And  wait !  my  service  of  wrought  gold,  Cellini's 
work ;  the  Cardinal  will  give  you  a  lapful  of  broad  pieces 
for  it.  He  fancied  it  when  he  last  supped  with  me.  Sell 
it  and  feed  and  bury  with  it.  Now  go;  and  mind  (with 
a  sudden  gust  of  passion),  no  more  of  your  reeking  tales! 
Do  you  think  I  do  not  know  how  they  look,  who  die  of 
the  plague?  The  swollen  limbs,  the  starting  eyes,  the 

pestilent  odor,  the ( He  stands  for  a  moment  with 

wide  eyes,  as  though  transfixed  with  unspeakable  horror; 
then  passing  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  turns  to  the  others 
with  an  attempt  to  assume  his  former  lightness  of  manner. 
'The  Brother  goes  out.)  Pardon  me,  gentlemen.  This  un 
couth  simplicity,  with  his  tales  unfit  for  ears  polite  — 
from  a  child  up,  such  sights  and  sounds  have  always 
unnerved  me  —  but  pardon  me,  as  I  was  saying  (he 
spreads  out  the  plan  of  his  library) — of  Carrara  marble, 
the  frieze  by  Gian  Bologna,  a  troop  of  drowsy  leopards 
teased  by  dancing  nymphs.  (He  shivers  again  slightly 
and  draws  a  long  breath.) 

48 


THE  TOCSIN 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Your  Reverence  half  persuades  me  to 
join  your  order. 

ABBOT.  You  shall  be  cellarer  in  place  of  Brother  Gregorius. 
I  mistrust  Brother  Gregorius;  his  paunch  is  too  round. 
(He  makes  certain  marks  on  the  parchment.) 

SIR  WALTER.  Shall  we  not  go  on  to  the  village  ?  ( He  points 
off  uneasily.) 

ABBOT.  Pardon  me,  gentlemen.  Here  is  a  mistake.  I  will 
wait  your  return.  The  loggia  lacks  airiness.  I  must  speak 
to  Gian  Bologna. 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Had  your  Reverence  cared,  you  could 
have  beaten  every  architect  in  Italy  on  his  own  ground. 

ABBOT.  Count  Salviati  is  too  kind.  And  had  I  taken  to 
the  arts,  what  would  Holy  Church  have  done  ? 

(Enter  a  group  of  peasant  girls •,  gaily  dressed,  on  their 
way  to  the  festa.  'They  make  a  reverence  to  the  Abbot  and 
are  about  to  hurry  on,  when  Count  Salviati  detains  them.) 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Not  so  fast,  my  beauties.  Here  is  music ; 
here  are  partners. 

SIR  WALTER.    The  Countess 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  We  have  pursued  too  long.  Let  us  try 
a  show  of  indifference.  (He  takes  the  hand  of  a  girl.  Sir 
Walter  that  of  another.  The  Abbot  paces  up  and  down, 
poring  over  his  parchment.} 

ABBOT.  Yes,  the  loggia  lacks  airiness.  (He  shivers.)  Pah! 
the  fellow  has  left  the  smell  of  the  charnel-house  behind 
him.  When  I  return,  every  building  they  have  dese 
crated  shall  be  razed  to  the  ground  —  not  a  stone  left 
standing.  And  some  fools  there  are  that  have  stayed 
behind.  That  sexless  gray-robe,  with  her  face  of  chalk, 
that  flitted  past  us  at  the  gate,  was  hurrying  to  Florence, 
it  may  be,  and  hoping  to  win  eternal  glory.  Per  Bacco! 

49 


THE  TOCSIN 

the  eternal  glory  of  this  world  is  enough  for  me,  could  I 
forget, — forget !  Ah,  why  did  the  imbecile  come  thrust 
ing  the  taint  of  his  purple  corpses  into  this  pure  air! 
Come,  my  loggia!  Gian  Bologna  shall  not  touch  it.  I 
myself  shall  make  such  a  dream  of  wrought  stone  as  will 
be  the  marvel  of  all  ages.  (He  moves  off  into  the  grove. 
'The  music  comes  suddenly  to  a  stop  and  then  begins  in  a 
minor,  plaintive  key.) 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (taking  a  few  more  turns  with  his  partner, 
then  pausing) .  Who  could  dance  to  that  dirge? 

PEASANT  GIRL.    It  must  be  the  blind  fiddler  from  Prato. 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Let  us  make  him  change  his  tune.  (He 
goes  out  with  Sir  Walter  and  the  peasant  girls.  The  Abbot 
paces  back  and  forth  from  the  grove,  immersed  in  his  plan.) 

ABBOT  (his  head  over  the  parchment).  And  here  a  column 
of  red  porphyry.  These  capitals  I  shall  myself  design. 
(He  disappears  into  the  grove  just  as  Marianna  comes  in  on 
the  other  side.  She  keeps  out  of  sight  behind  the  shrine  till 
the  Abbot  has  gone  and  then  she  hurries  to  the  spot  where 
the  discarded  hawthorn  spray  is  lying,  picks  it  up,  kisses  it 
and  places  it  in  her  bosom.  She  turns  and  looks  back.) 

MARIANNA.  But  where  is  Sister  Maddalena,  now  that  I 
have  brought  her  back  to  his  Reverence?  Oh,  if  I  dared 
see  him  too,  and  send  one  word  to  Lorenzo !  ( Looking 
off.)  Ah,  she  is  waiting  to  bless  that  old  man,  and  yet  she 
seemed  in  such  haste  I  could  scarce  keep  up  with  her. 
(She  takes  the  hawthorn  from  her  bosom  and  kisses  it  pas 
sionately.)  He  pulled  it,  he  held  it,  and  she,  she  put  it  in 
his  bosom  and  he  plucked  it  out  and  threw  it  away.  What 
was  she  saying  to  him?  She  touched  his  hair!  O  Holy 
Virgin,  she  touched  the  little  curls  on  his  forehead,  and 
I — I  had  ridden  through  the  night  for  him.  I  saved 

50 


THE  TOCSIN 

him  from  death  and  he  never  knew.  (She  mounts  the  steps 
languidly  to  the  shrine,  throws  herself  down  before  it,  kisses 
the  hawthorn  spray  and  lays  it  at  Mary 's  feet.  Then  she 
snatches  it  up  vehemently  and  holds  it  against  her  breast.) 
No,  no,  not  this,  Holy  Mother,  I  cannot  give  you  this. 
He  held  it.  It  is  still  warm  from  his  touch.  The  fields 
are  blood-red  with  poppies;  I  will  pull  my  hands  full 
for  you,  and  my  heart,  my  broken  heart,  that  I  lay  at 
your  feet,  but  these  flowers,  do  not  ask  me  for  these, 
Mother  of  Sorrows,  not  these.  (She  puts  the  hawthorn 
in  the  folds  of  her  bodice,  rises  and  turns  slowly.  The  Abbot 
has  come  from  the  grove  and  is  looking  intently  at  her.  As, 
absorbed  in  her  grief,  she  descends  the  steps,  he  comes  for 
ward.) 

ABBOT.    Gabriello ! 

MARIANNA  (starting  and  covering  her  face).    Father! 

ABBOT  (taking  her  hands  from  her  face).  We  have  sought 
the  country  over  for  you.  Why  are  you  masking  here  ? 

MARIANNA.    I  am  not  masking,  Reverend  Father. 

ABBOT  (looking  at  her  fixedly).  No,  your  blushes  tell  me 
that.  (His  voice  sounds  hard,  as  one  suffering  a  disillusion- 
ment.)  How  is  it  you  can  still  blush?  The  masking 
came  before. 

MARIANNA.    Forgive  me,  Father. 

ABBOT.  You  saved  Lorenzo.  Can  there  be  talk  of  forgive 
ness  ?  Come,  that  he  may  reward  you. 

MARIANNA  (shrinking  away).    No,  no. 

ABBOT.  And  you  housed  with  us  at  the  convent  and  we 
never  knew!  (After  a  pause.)  There  was  something 
about  you,  boy  —  there  I  fall  into  the  old  trick — but 
there  was  something  in  your  eyes  of  the  freshness  of  the 
fields  that  half  made  me  believe  again  in  the  old  nursery 

51 


THE  TOCSIN 

legends  of  pure  women  and  brave  men ;  but,  after  all- 

(he  laughs  cynically). 
MARIANNA.    O  Reverend  Father,  forgive  me!    I  know  it 

was  a  sin,  but  I  meant  no  wrong.    O  Father,  I  had  never 

left  my  home  before,  but  he  had  been  gone  so  long,  so 

long,  and  I  did  not  know  where  he  was.    And  I  thought 

if  I  called  myself  after  the  blessed  Archangel  Gabriel,  no 

harm  could  come  to  me. 
ABBOT.    Who  had  been  gone  so  long? 
MARIANNA  (sinking  her  eyes).    He  —  is  living  —  near  here. 
ABBOT.    One  of  the  villagers  ?    (Marianna  makes  no  reply.) 

And  he  had  gone  to  Florence  ?    And  you  followed  him  ? 

Where  is  he  now? 
MARIANNA  (almost  inaudibly).    He   loves   me   no   longer, 

Father. 
ABBOT  (stooping  to  hear,  and  his   old  belief  and  tenderness 

rushing  back).    Loves  you  no  longer? 
MARIANNA.    No,  Father. 
ABBOT.    He  loves  some  one  else?    (Marianna  covers  her 

face  with  her  hands.)    Then  you  hate  him  ? 
MARIANNA  (uncovering  her  face).    Hate  him?    O  Father, 

I  first  know  now  how  I  love  him.   And  every  day,  every 

hour  I  pray  for  his  happiness. 

ABBOT.    His  happiness  with  her?    You  call  this  love? 
MARIANNA.    Why,  Father,  how  could  I  help  but  long  for 

him  to  be  happy  ?    I  love  him. 
ABBOT.    Love  him  ?    So  was  I  never  loved ! 
MARIANNA.    Is  not  this  love?    I  cannot  read  in  the  great 

books  you  pore  over;  perhaps  it  stands  written  in  them 

what  love  is ;  I  only  know  this :  when  he  loved  me  I  was 

in  paradise,  and  now  that  he  has  forgotten  me,  I  pray  the 

Holy  Mother  to  let  me  die  and  to  make  him  happy. 

52 


THE  TOCSIN 

ABBOT  (deeply  moved  and  taking  her  hands  reverently).  He 
must  love  you  again.  He  shall.  He  is  not  worthy  of 
you  —  no  man  could  be.  But  who  is  the  man?  Let  me 
go  to  him.  If  he  were  the  son  of  the  Grand  Duke,  you 
should  have  him.  I  never  knew  women  could  love  like 
this !  Where  is  he  ?  Tell  me,  child.  Trust  me,  little  one. 

MARIANNA.    It  is  —  he  is 

(Lorenzo's  voice  is  heard  outside.) 

LORENZO  (calling).    No,  Count,  we  wait  for  no  loiterers. 

MARIANNA  (starting).    Ah! 

ABBOT.    Trust  me,  child. 

MARIANNA  (trembling).  They  are  returning  from  the  dance. 
Come,  Father,  not  now,  not  now.  (She  draws  him  with 
her  to  the  grove.  A  group  of  peasants  pass,  then  Lorenzo 
and  Bianca  enter.) 

BIANCA.    What,  not  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  among  them  ? 

LORENZO.    I  saw  only  yours. 

BIANCA.    Oh,  Lorenzo,  I  hear  such  speech  too  often. 

LORENZO.  Never  listen  to  it  from  others,  only  from  me  — 
from  me. 

BIANCA  (letting  her  hand  rest  in  his  and  sighing).  I  wish  I 
had  not  gone  to  the  dance. 

LORENZO.    Why  do  you  sigh  ? 

BIANCA.  Those  peasant  girls,  after  all  they  love  as  we  do. 
I  read  it  in  their  eyes. 

LORENZO.    Do  not  sigh. 

BIANCA.  It  had  been  better  for  you  and  better  for  me  if  I 
had  sighed  more  in  my  life.  As  I  look  back,  it  seems 
all  a  mad  dream. 

LORENZO.    Because  love  was  lacking. 

BIANCA  (wistfully).    Love? 

LORENZO  (looking  back).    What!  Sister  Maddalena  here? 

53 


THE  TOCSIN 

BlANCA.     Ah ! 

LORENZO.    I  cannot  meet  her  now. 

BIANCA  (shuddering}.  No,  no.  The  crown  of  thorns !  She 
said,  yet  should  I  come !  (They  look  at  each  other  fearfully 
and  guiltily  and  hurry  out.  Marianna  staggers  from  the 
grove  to  the  shrine.) 

MARIANNA.    Lorenzo !    O  Mother  of  Sorrows ! 

ABBOT  (catching  her  in  his  arms  as  she  falls  fainting).  Lor 
enzo,  the  man ?  And  you,  Marianna?  And  it  was  I  lured 
Bianca  to  come  between  you !  O  Lorenzo,  my  boy,  to 
have  robbed  you  of  this  —  you  whom  I  love  better  than 
life !  O  my  God,  what  have  I  done ! 

( He  kneels  down  by  Marianna,  raises  her  reverently  and 
tenderly  on  his  breast  and  bears  her  out.  Groups  of  peasants 
returning  from  the  festa  continue  to  pass,  among  them  Count 
Salviati  and  his  partner.  Count  Salviati  puts  his  arm  about 
the  girl  but  she  pushes  it  away.) 

PEASANT  GIRL.  Not  now;  do  you  not  see  the  Holy  Sister 
is  following  us  ? 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Make  haste,  then.  ('They  go  on,  and  amid 
a  group  of  villagers  Sister  Maddalena  enters.  When  she 
reaches  the  shrine  she  pauses  and  looks  eagerly  about.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (breathlessly).  Marianna?  Where  is 
she? 

VILLAGERS.  Farewell,  Sister.  Bless  us.  (They  kneel  for  her 
blessing,  which  she  gives  automatically  as  though  her  thoughts 
were  far  from  them.  They  rise  and  go  out.  As  the  last  one 
leaves,  she  throws  up  her  arms  with  a  gesture  of  joyous 
exultation.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  Now!  (She  turns  toward  the  castle.) 
O  blessed  walls  that  give  him  shelter !  Oh,  after  all  these 
years,  at  last,  at  last!  (She  starts  forward,  then  hurries  to 

54 


THE  TOCSIN 

the  shrine?)  One  prayer,  first,  of  thanksgiving !  ( She 
mounts  the  steps  and  throws  herself  down  before  the  Virgin, 
but  after  a  moment  rises  feverishly  and  fearfully  ,  her  face 
full  of  perturbation.)  What  has  come  to  me  ?  I  have  no 
words  to  pray.  Only  a  great  sea  of  joy  surging  over  me, 
and  his  face,  his  and  not  the  Virgin  Mother's  !  Oh,  is  it 
any  mortal  longing  that  moves  me?  Is  the  old  taint  not 
yet  scourged  away?  The  flesh  still  uncrucified  ?  (In 
agonized  inward  con/lift.)  O  Lord,  Lord !  it  is  for  Thee 
and  for  Thy  glory  I  would  fall  at  his  feet, —  he  who 
brought  me  to  Thee !  Have  mercy  on  Thy  hand-maiden ! 
Search  my  heart !  Dost  Thou  deny  me  this  ?  Wouldst 
Thou  visit  me  with  Thy  wrath  because  my  feet  faltered 
at  the  cry  of  the  stricken  child  Marianna  ?  Ask  not  this 
sacrifice !  Have  I  not  labored  in  Thy  vineyard  ?  Oh,  is 
it  my  heart  of  flesh  that  still  cries  out  ?  Give  me  a  sign ! 
All  is  dark.  I  know  not  which  way  to  turn.  Send  down 
Thine  angels  to  me,  as  in  times  past!  (She stands  breath 
less,  her  eyes  fixed,  her  arms  outstretched,  silent  at  first,  then 
speaking  in  a  far-away  monotone  as  one  in  a  trance.)  Light, 
light  ineffable, —  I  cannot  see  for  light, —  wings,  tier  on 
tier.  Bear  me  up,  O  blessed  ones,  lest  I  faint !  A  great 
hush.  Hark!  —  Which  of  the  bright  host  spake? — One? 
All?  —  What  were  the  words?  "He  needs  you."  (A 
wonderful  radiance  steals  over  her  face.)  Needs  me  ?  Me  ? 
(She  stands  rapt  and  motionless,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes 
fixed  in  mystic  ecstasy.  Little  by  little  her  lips  move  as  if  in 
silent,  awestruck  prayer,  then  with  a  gesture  of  unutterable 
joy  she  breaks  into  speech.)  Needs  me?  Have  I  heard 
aright  ?  Even  me,  the  dust  at  his  feet  ?  The  Lord  hath 
spoken.  Thy  voice,  O  Lord  of  Hosts !  Thy  behest !  I 
may  go  to  him !  I  am  answered ! 

55 


ACT  IV 

SCENE  I  — Biancas  dressing-room.  Bianca  seated  at  a  table 
with  a  casket  of  jewels  before  her.  She  rests  her  chin  on  her 
hand  and  gazes  off  as  one  lost  in  thought.  In  one  hand  she 
holds  a  letter. 

BIANCA  (dreamily).  The  title  of  Marchioness  and  (lifting 
a  string  of  jewels}  these.  And  the  Grand  Duke's  favor 
for — how  long?  And  if  Bianca  Cappello  dies!  And 
Lorenzo?  (She  fingers  the  jewels,  clasps  a  bracelet  about 
her  wrist,  then  a  string  of  rubies  about  her  neck,  takes  up  a 
coronet,  rises,  goes  to  a  mirror  and  fastens  it  in  her  hair. 
She  stands  head  erefl  and  proud  gazing  at  herself  in  the 
mirror,  then  paces  restlessly  up  and  down,  returns  to  the 
mirror,  then  to  the  table  and  takes  up  the  letter}  And 
the  Duke's  messenger  waits  for  my  answer!  (She  starts 
suddenly,  goes  to  two  wide  closed  doors  at  the  back  of  the 
stage  and  listens  intently  with  bent  head  and  finger  on 
lip.)  All  quiet!  (She  returns  to  the  mirror  and  looks  at 
herself  again,  less  critically  and  more  passionately}  If  he 
could  see  me  now !  ( She  laughs  with  a  touch  of  scorn.) 
See  me  in  the  Grand  Duke's  jewels !  Lorenzo !  and  Sister 

56 


THE  TOCSIN 

Maddalena !  (She  stands  with  parted  lips,  her  bosom  heav 
ing,  her  eyes  full  of  a  vague  terror.)  She  said,  yet  should 
I  come! 

(Enter  Nita.) 

NITA.    Pardon,  my  lady. 

BIANCA  (turning  angrily).    Who  called  you? 

NITA.    Pardon,  my  lady,  but  the  messenger  waits. 

BIANCA.    When  I  wish  to  see  him  I  will  ring. 

NITA.  Pardon,  my  lady,  but  if  my  lady  knew  how  beautiful 
she  looked,  she 

BIANCA.    Leave  the  room ! 

NITA.    Pardon,  my  lady.    ( Exit.) 

( Bianca  goes  to  the  closed  doors,  listens  a  moment,  stands 
lost  in  thought,  then  slowly  unclasps  bracelet  and  necklace, 
takes  the  coronet  off  and  lays  the  jewels  in  the  casket.  'Then 
she  rings.  Nita  enters.) 

BIANCA  (pointing  to  the  casket).  Give  this  to  the  messenger, 
and  he  may  tell  his  master  Bianca  delle  Torre  has  jewels 
and  titles  enough. 

NITA.  Ah,  but  the  beautiful  jewels!  (She  goes  relucJantly 
to  the  door.) 

BIANCA  (half  rising) .  Wait!  (She  seems  to  struggle  with 
herself  a  moment,  then  motions  Nita  away.  Nita  goes  out. 
Bianca  sits  motionless,  her  face  resting  on  her  hands,  her 
eyes  dreamy,  gazing  off  into  space.  Enter  Lorenzo  suddenly 
with  a  drawn  dagger.  He  moves  silently,  swiftly,  looking 
about  as  if  for  some  one  he  fully  expecJed  to  find.  Bianca  turns 
and  sees  him  and  watches  him  in  scornful  silence.  He  catches 
her  eye.  She  looks  apprehensively  at  the  closed  doors  and 
he  rushes  toward  them  triumphantly.  Swiftly  she  glides 
between  and  stands  with  her  back  against  them,  her  arms 
outstretched  across  the  panels.) 

57 


THE  TOCSIN 

BIANCA.    Whom  are  you  searching  for? 

LORENZO.    De'  Medici's  messenger.    Where  is  he  ? 

BIANCA.    Not  here. 

LORENZO.    Then  it  was  de'  Medici  himself? 

BIANCA.    Insolent! 

LORENZO.  I  have  a  message  for  the  Duke.  Let  me  pass. 
(Grasps  her  arm.} 

BIANCA  (with  sudden  pleading  in  her  voice}.  Lorenzo,  there 
is  no  man  there;  but  I  will  be  open  with  you, —  the 
Duke's  messenger  was  here 

LORENZO.    Let  me  pass.    I  would  not  be  rough  with  you. 

BIANCA.  But  I  sent  him  away  and  his  jewels  with  him. 
(More  pleadingly.}  See,  I  am  frank  with  you,  Lorenzo 
mio;  the  Grand  Duke  sent  me  jewels  but  I  would  not 
have  them. 

LORENZO  (with  a  bitter  laugb}.  Jewels  by  a  white  carrier- 
dove,  was  it  not  so  ?  That  white  dove  you  befooled  me 
with  the  first  day  I  ever  met  you  ? 

BIANCA.    Lorenzo ! 

LORENZO.    How  a  little  point  of  steel  can  tame  a  woman ! 

BIANCA  ( laying  her  hand  on  the  hand  which  holds  the  dagger}. 
Do  I  fear  you  ? 

LORENZO.  A  brave  woman  by  all  the  saints!  (He  starts 
to  throw  open  the  doors,  then  turns  away  with  a  gesture  of 
bitter  indifference.)  No,  hide  whom  you  will  behind  your 
doors.  What  is  it  to  me!  (He  glances  about  in  sudden 
wonder,  as  if  coming  to  himself,  and  hurries  to  the  outer  door.} 

BIANCA  (feverishly).  Lorenzo,  I  have  been  thinking  over 
many  things  here  in  the  moonlight.  (She  goes  to  the  table.) 
See.  I  was  thinking  of — of  Marianna  (he  turns  with  a 
start),  and  I  have  set  aside  these  pearls  for  her.  (She 
takes  up  a  necklace.) 

58 


THE  TOCSIN 

LORENZO  (full  of  anguish  and  amazement).   Marianna!  ( He 

goes  toward  Bianca.) 
BIANCA.    Yes,  for  Marianna. 
LORENZO  (with  sudden  passion).    Hush!    Not  that  name 

on  your  lips !    The  saints',  the  Holy  Virgin's  name  if 

you  will,  but  not  that  name  on  your  painted  lips.    (He 

tears  the  string  of  pearls  from  her  and  throws  it  underfoot.) 
BIANCA.    Lorenzo ! 

LORENZO.    Those  about  Marianna' s  throat? 
BIANCA  ( with  a  strange  meekness).  They  were  my  mother's. 

I  have  never  worn  them  since  as  a  child  she  used  to  twine 

them  in  my  hair. 
LORENZO.    What,  no  lover's  kisses  on  them  ?   But  let  them 

lie.    Marianna  will  not  need  them  in  Heaven. 
BIANCA.    In  Heaven? 
LORENZO.    She  went  to  Florence  to  find  me — is  dead,  it 

may  be !    ( 'Turns  to  the  door.) 

BIANCA  (following  him).    Now  if  she  were  in  Heaven! 
LORENZO.    Hush! 
BIANCA.    Now  if  she  whom  you  will  not  let  me  name  were 

in  Heaven !    (She  lays  her  hand  on  his  arm.) 
LORENZO  (looking  at  her  in  dull  wonder).    And   once  I 

thought  you  a  pearl. 

BIANCA.    If  she  were  dead  and  if  I  said  I  loved  you  ? 
LORENZO  ( oblivious  of  Bianca  and  sinking  again  into  his  grief). 

Followed  me  to  Florence  to  die ! 

BIANCA.    My  God,  did  you  not  hear  me  say  I  loved  you  ? 
LORENZO  (unheeding).    Houseless  and  alone! 
BIANCA  (barring  the  way).  Lorenzo,  it  is  true  I  mocked  you 

at  first,  played  with  you,  tried  to  break  your  heart  till 

Heaven  knows  I  broke  my  own !   (He  tries  to  thrust  her 

aside;  she  bars  the  way  and  clings  to  him.)    Have  I  not 

59 


THE  TOCSIN 

given  up  everything  for  you  ?  Offended  the  Grand  Duke  ? 
Sent  back  his  presents  ?  You  do  not  believe  I  love  you  ? 

LORENZO.    I  am  weary  of  hearing  you  say  you  love  me ! 

BIANCA.    You  will  never  hear  me  say  it  again. 

LORENZO.  Now  to  Florence,  to  Marianna!  (He  turns  to 
go.  As  he  reaches  the  door  Bianca,  who  has  stood  battling 
with  herself,  cries  out.) 

BIANCA.   Lorenzo  !  (He fays  no  heed,  andBianca  rushes  to  the 
two  closed  doors  and  throws  them  back,  disclosing  Marianna 
swathed  in  white,  lying  as  if  asleep  on  a  couch.    'The  moon 
light  from  two  tall  mullioned  windows  falls  on  her.) 
Lorenzo !    Look. 

LORENZO  (turning).    My  God!    Marianna! 

BIANCA.    Hush ! 

LORENZO.    Dead  and  here ! 

BIANCA.    The  Abbot  brought  her  fainting  from  the  fields. 

LORENZO.    Not  dead! 

BIANCA.    We  calmed  her  with  a  sleeping  draught. 

LORENZO.    How  did  she  come  here? 

BIANCA.   You  remember  the  Abbot's  page ! 

LORENZO.  Who  rode  for  my  pardon!  Where  were  my 
eyes !  ( He  steals  nearer  Marianna.) 

BIANCA.    Where  were  your  eyes?    In  mine  then. 

LORENZO.  I  never  loved  you.  (He  approaches  Marianna, 
kneels  down  and  buries  his  face  in  the  hem  of  her  robe) 

BIANCA.    No !    ( She  presses  her  hands  to  her  heart.) 

LORENZO  ( still  on  his  knees  and  with  a  great  fear  in  his  voice). 
Is  it  sleep  —  or — death! 

SCENE  II  —  Courtyard  of  the  castle.  Behind  the  towers  and 
battlements  the  moon  is  rising.  From  the  lighted  chapel  at 
the  rear  comes  the  muffled  peal  of  the  organ  and  the  solemn 

60 


THE  TOCSIN 

chanting  of  a  midnight  mass.  At  one  side  under  a  pent 
house  hangs  a  great  bell.  In  the  foreground  at  a  stone  table> 
lit  by  torches  and  candles^  sit  Count  Salviati  and  Sir  Walter 
over  their  wine.  'The  Abbot  is  facing  moodily  up  and  down. 
Brother  Sebastiano  stands  near. 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Very  good,  Sir  Walter!  (To  the  Abbot .) 
But  your  Reverence  does  not  laugh  with  us. 

ABBOT.  Pardon  me.  I  am  dull.  I  had  bad  dreams  last 
night. 

SIR  WALTER.    The  news  from  Florence? 

ABBOT  ( as  if  he  had  not  heard  and  gazing  moodily  before  him ). 
Did  you  ever  tempt  a  bird,  a  little  singing  bird,  to  your 
knee  and  then  while  it  perched  there  and  let  its  heart 

out,  crush  it  so,  with  your  hand,  like {changing  his 

tone  and  reaching  for  a  glass).    The  wine,  gentlemen. 

SIR  WALTER.    Was  that  your  dream  ? 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Do  you  dream  on  foot?  I  heard  you 
pacing  your  chamber  half  the  night. 

ABBOT  ( lifting  his  glass  and  throwing  back  his  head  as  if  to 
dispel  heavy  thoughts}.  This  cures  bad  dreams.  Did  you 
ever  hear,  Count,  that  a  cup  of  wine  got  me  my  famous 
watch  and  my  mitre  ? 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  All  Florence  has  it,  it  was  your  Rever 
ence's  great  sermon. 

ABBOT.  And  what  do  you  think  was  sponsor  to  the  ser 
mon  ?  Come,  then,  if  my  forty  years  may  bore  you  with 
tales  of  my  youth.  {A  knocking  is  heard  at  the  castle  gate. 
Brother  Sebastiano  goes  and  opens  the  little  wicket} 

SIR  WALTER  {placing  a  chair}.    Do  us  the  honor. 
(The  Abbot  seats  himself  at  the  table.) 

ABBOT.    It  was  at  the  time  of  the  Archbishop's  visit  to 

61 


THE  TOCSIN 

Florence.  Our  Prior — I  was  at  San  Marco's,  had  just 
finished  my  novitiate  —  our  good  Prior  was  to  preach 
before  him  in  the  cathedral. 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO  (coming  forward  and  plucking  the 
Abbot's  sleeve).  Pardon,  Reverend  Father,  but 

ABBOT  (waving  him  of).  To  the  devil  with  Florence!  I 
will  hear  no  more  of  it,  I  tell  you. 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.  Pardon,  Reverend  Father,  not  Flor 
ence,  but  a  woman. 

ABBOT  (waving  him  off).  To  the  devil  with  the  women! 
(Brother  Sebastiano  reluctantly  desists?)  It  was  the  cele 
bration  of  high  mass.  The  cathedral  was  packed,  the 
Archbishop  on  his  throne,  when  the  Prior  was  seized 
with  a  dizziness.  One  of  the  brothers  must  take  his 
place  and  read  the  sermon.  They  hurried  to  the  convent. 
Chance  chose  me ! 

COUNT  SALVIATI.  Who  calls  Chance  blind !  ( The  knocking^ 
low  but  determined^  is  heard  again.  Brother  Sebastiano  goes 
to  the  gate.) 

ABBOT.  I  had  five  minutes  for  preparation.  "To  your 
beads,"  cried  our  almoner, —  he  was  a  pious  man;  but 
the  cellarer  gave  me  a  nod  and  a  beck  and  jingled  his 
keys.  "  I  have  something  that  will  keep  your  knees  from 
shaking  under  you,"  he  whispered. 

(Brother  Sebastiano  >  who  has  been  standing  at  the  wicket , 
again  comes  to  the  Abbot?) 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.  She  will  not  take  no,  Reverend 
Father. 

ABBOT  (faying  no  heed  to  Brother  Sebastiano,  but  continuing 
with  growing  recklessness).  I  tasted,  I  drank,  I  was  glori 
ous.  I  hurried  to  the  cathedral,  I  mounted  the  pulpit. 
A  sea  of  heads  stretched  before  me.  In  a  trice  the  wine, 

62 


THE  TOCSIN 

the  devil,  my  guardian  angel,  who  knows,  conspired.  I 
flung  aside  my  notes.  Something  struggled  for  a  moment 
on  my  lips  and  then  leapt  to  speech.  I  was  preaching, 
not  the  Prior's  sermon,  but  my  own. 

COUNT  SALVIATI.    Bravo ! 

SIR  WALTER.    Well  done ! 

ABBOT  (rising).  Every  eye  was  upon  me.  My  voice  rose. 
The  blood  beat  in  my  temples.  There  was  a  sob  from 
one  of  the  women.  It  was  like  a  spur.  Another,  I  took 
the  bit  in  my  teeth !  Women  tore  off  their  jewels  and 
cast  them  on  the  flags.  The  whole  throng  swayed  toward 
me.  They  were  mine. 

COUNT  SALVIATI.    Bravissimo! 

SIR  WALTER.    And  the  Archbishop  ? 

ABBOT.  Breathless  like  the  rest.  Afterward,  in  the  sacristy, 
holy  man,  he  fell  on  my  neck  and  gave  me  his  blessing, 
his  famous  watch,  and  the  Abbey  of  San  Raffaello. 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.  O  Reverend  Father,  she  says  she 
must  see  you  before  she  dies. 

ABBOT.  What  are  you  dinning  into  my  ears  ?  Who  is  she  ? 
What  is  she? 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.    I  do  not  know,  Reverend  Father. 

ABBOT.    Is  she  fair? 

BROTHER  SEBASTIANO.  Her  face  is  covered,  your  Reverence. 

ABBOT.  Come,  then,  to  put  an  end  to  your  importunity. 
Gentlemen,  shall  we  unveil  the  beauty  ? 

COUNT  SALVIATI.    By  all  means. 

ABBOT.  Let  her  in.  (He  snatches  up  one  of  the  torches, 
laughing.  Brother  Sebastiano  opens  the  gate  and  admits  Sister 
Maddalena.} 

SIR  WALTER  (to  Count  Sahiati).  By  the  Holy  Mass  — 
look! 

63 


THE  TOCSIN 

COUNT  SALVIATI  (starting).    The  gray  Sister! 

(Sister  Maddalena,  her  hood  drawn  over  her  face,  ad 
vances  toward  the  Abbot  >  and  when  within  a  few  faces  of 
him  kneels  down  with  bowed  head  and  her  arms  crossed  on 
her  breast?) 

ABBOT.    What  do  you  want  of  me  ? 

SISTER  MADDALENA.   Your  blessing,  Holy  Father. 

ABBOT  (gaily).  Your  face,  Holy  Sister.  (He  throws  back 
her  hood  and  flares  the  torch  in  her  face,  and  as  the  light 
falls  on  her  fur  e  worn  features  he  starts  back  sobered.)  You 
must  be  she  they  call  St.  Maddalena.  (<fo  Count  Salviati 
and  Sir  Walter.)  I  pray  you,  gentlemen,  one  moment. 
I  will  join  you.  (Exeunt  the  Count  and  Sir  Walter?) 
(Harshly?)  I  have  no  blessing  for  you! 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (clashing  the  hem  of  his  robe).  O  Father, 
let  but  the  quickening  grace  of  your  benediction  rest 
upon  me  before  I  die.  I  go  to  Florence. 

ABBOT.    To  Florence !    To  hell ! 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  To  Florence,  to  bliss  eternal,  won  for 
me,  the  greatest  of  God's  sinners,  through  your  words, 
your  prayers ! 

ABBOT  (bitterly).    My  prayers!    When  have  I  prayed? 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    Mock  me  not,  Father. 

ABBOT.  Mock  me  not,  Sister.  When  have  I  ever  seen 
you? 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  O  Father,  I  was  of  those  in  the  cathe 
dral,  when  the  spirit  of  God  descended  upon  you,  and 
you  spoke  with  tongues  of  flame.  ( Swept  by  her  memories 
of  the  pasty  she  rises  from  her  knees.)  All  about  me  the 
great  mass  swayed  and  surged.  Men  sobbed,  women  fell 
fainting  on  the  cold  stones.  You  scourged  the  vanities 
of  this  world.  I  tore  the  jewels  from  my  throat;  you 

64 


THE  TOCSIN 

plucked  the  secret  sin  from  out  my  bosom ;  you  spoke 
to  me,  to  me  alone  in  all  the  throng !  The  sword-thrusts 
of  your  words  slashed  and  rent  my  guilty  breast.  Then, 
oh,  with  what  angel  voice  you  pleaded  the  passion  of  our 
Lord  —  pardon,  redemption,  peace!  My  heart  melted  in 
me.  "  O  Christ,"  I  cried,  "  I  come,  I  come ! "  (  The  Abbot 
stands  motionless.  Sister  Maddalena  becomes  more  impas 
sioned.}  I  left  my  home,  my  friends,  my  lovers ;  I  sought 
refuge  in  the  mountain  fastnesses  to  mourn  my  sins.  As 
the  sands  of  the  sea,  so  were  my  lamentations,  yet  peace 
came  not.  Then  across  my  desolation  swept  the  wail  of 
the  sinning,  the  stricken,  the  forsaken.  "  As  thou  doest 
it  to  the  least  of  these,"  cried  a  voice,  and  I  went  again 
among  men.  But  now  to  nurse  the  suffering,  plead  with 
the  murderer,  the  harlot;  mount  the  scaffold  to  clasp 
the  despised  hands  of  those  condemned  to  shameful 
death.  O  Father,  the  tears  of  souls  redeemed,  their 
prayers,  their  halleluiahs,  the  aspirations  of  their  breaking 
hearts  turned  through  my  weak  aid  to  God,  I  come  to 
lay  here  at  your  feet,  before  I  die.  ( She  casts  herself  on 
her  knees  before  the  Abbot  and  kisses  the  hem  of  his  gar 
ment.  He  stands  as  though  struck  dumb;  then  with  a  sudden 
cry,  snatches  his  robe  from  her  hands.) 

ABBOT.  "And  the  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart,  there  is  no 
God."  O  my  life,  my  barren  life,  burst  like  Aaron's  rod 
into  this  miracle  of  flower!  O  my  God,  whom  I  have 
denied  and  mocked !  {A  low,  solemn  chanting  as  of  a  dirge 
is  heard  without.  The  Abbot  turns  impassioned  to  Sister 
Maddalena.}  I,  the  instrument  of  your  salvation  ?  At  my 
feet  your  crown  of  tears,  of  prayers,  of  faith  triumphant? 
I,  unworthy  to  loose  the  latchet  of  your  shoes  !  I,  stained 
with  a  thousand  sins,  false  priest,  untrue  to  every  vow ! 

65 


THE  TOCSIN 

Up,  up  from  the  dust  where  I  should  lie !   (  He  takes  her 

hands  and  attempts  to  raise  her.) 

(The  dirge  sounds  nearer.   There  enter  two  monks  chant 
ing  and  with  flaring  torches  in  their  hands.   Following  them 

face  slowly  and  solemnly  four  more  brothers  bearing  an  of  en 

bier  strewn  with  white  flowers,  on  which,  as  though  wrought 

in  alabaster,  Marianna  is  lying.   Lorenzo  walks  beside  her. 

As  his  eyes  fall  on  the  Abbot,  he  starts  forward,  half 

frenzied.) 

LORENZO.    Her  death  be  on  your  head,  you  who  parted  us. 
ABBOT.    Marianna !   Dead ! 

(The  brothers  set  down  the  bier.) 
LORENZO  (perceiving  Sister  Maddalena  and  clutching  her  robe 

in  an  agony  of  supplication).    O  Holy  Sister,  save  her! 
SISTER  MADDALENA.    Whither  are  you  carrying  her? 
LORENZO.    To  the  chapel,  the  wonder-working  image  of 

Our  Lady. 
ABBOT  ( bending  horror-struck  over  Marianna  and  stretching 

out  his  arms  over  her  with  a  gesture  of  infinite  tenderness}. 

My  work ! 

(Lorenzo  turns  from  Sister  Maddalena  and  seizing  the 

Abbot's  arm  thrusts  him  away.) 
LORENZO  (mercilessly).    Not  your  hands  on  her;  it  were 

profanation, —  you  who  lured  me  into  the  snares  of  the 

courtezan. 

( The  Abbot  staggers  back,  his  hand  on  his  heart,  as  if 

struck  by  a  mortal  blow.  Sister  Maddalena  touches  Lorenzo's 

arm  in  stern  command.) 
SISTER  MADDALENA.    Peace. 
LORENZO  (seizing  her  robe).    But  you,  so  pure,  so  holy, 

you  have  power  with  Heaven.    Your  robes  are  not,  like 

his,  a  mockery  of  religion.    She  breathes  yet.    Wrestle 

66 


THE   TOCSIN 

for  her  with  the  angel  of  death.   I  broke  her  heart.   Give 
her  back  to  me  or  one  grave  holds  us  both. 

(Sister  Maddalena  lays  her  hands  gently  on  Marianna  s 
wrists  and  forehead.  She  turns  a  moment  with  quivering 
lips  toward  the  Abbot,  then  bends  over  the  sleeping  girl.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA.    It  is  sleep,  not  death. 

LORENZO  (half  incredulous).    Sleep? 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  Even  now  she  stirs.  Let  your  face 
be  the  first  she  sees. 

( Lorenzo  kneels  down  by  the  bier  gazing  into  Marianna  s 
face.  Sister  Maddalena  stands  above  her.  For  a  moment 
her  eyes  wander,  with  a  look  of  anguish,  toward  the  Abbot, 
who  stands  bowed  and  motionless.  'Then  with  an  evident 
effort  at  control,  she  steadies  her  voice  and  speaks  to  Mari 
anna  in  a  tone  of  quiet  command)  Marianna !  ( The  girl  stirs 
slightly.)  Marianna!  (Marianna9 s  eyelids  flutter  and  she 
looks  up  dreamily.)  Marianna!  (Marianna,  supported  by 
Sister  Maddalena,  half  rises  on  her  elbow.  'The  monks  fall 
on  their  knees,  crossing  themselves  and  murmuring,  "  A  mira 
cle  ! "  Lorenzo  kneels  breathless.  As  Marianna  s  eyes  fall 
on  him,  a  wonderful  smile  dawns  over  her  face.  She  draws 
a  deep  sigh  of  joy.) 

MARIANNA.  I  must  be  in  Heaven,  for  your  eyes  say  they 
love  me.  (Lorenzo,  speechless,  clasps  her  hands.)  I  am  too 
happy  to  question  you. 

LORENZO.    Forgive. 

MARIANNA.    I  shall  live  now. 

LORENZO.    Forget. 

MARIANNA.    I  have  forgotten  all. 

(She  sinks  on  his  breast.  He  draws  her  from  the  bier. 
They  have  eyes  only  for  each  other,  and  supporting  her  in  his 
arms,  Lorenzo  leads  her  off.  The  brothers  follow  with  the 

67 


THE  TOCSIN 

bier.  As  the  lovers  pass  him,  the  Abbot  starts  forward. 
Marianna,  her  head  pillowed  on  Lorenzo's  breast,  does  not 
see  him.  Lorenzo  makes  an  involuntary  gesture  of  aversion, 
and  drawing  Marianna  closer  to  him  passes  out.  The  Abbot 
turns  and  leans  heavily  against  the  wall,  his  head  buried  in 
his  arms.  Sister  Maddalena  sways,  then  stands  gazing 
yearningly  at  him.  She  half  unconsciously  makes  a  step 
toward  him  and  stretches  out  her  arms.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  Crushed,  broken,  desolate!  (She 
dashes  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  vainly  striving  for  control. 
The  deep  waters  have  passed  over  her.)  Oh,  these  woman's 
tears  !  when  I  should  have  the  tongue  of  men  and  of 
angels !  Lord,  not  this  cup,  not  this !  If  ever  Thy  hand 
maiden  hath  found  favor  in  Thy  sight,  my  life  for  his, 
my  soul,  my  salvation !  Lord,  forget  not  it  was  he  who 
led  me  to  Thee.  O  star  of  my  life,  dim,  fallen !  ( The 
Abbot  turns.  Their  eyes  meet.  She  starts  toward  him  with 
outstretched  hands.  He  draws  back.) 

ABBOT.  Did  you  not  hear  him  say  my  touch  was  profana 
tion  ?  (In  spite  of  himself  Sister  Maddalena  takes  his  hands. 
He  looks  into  her  eyes.  The  harshness,  the  broken-hearted 
despair  in  his  voice  give  place  to  an  almost  awestruck 
wonder.)  What,  still  tears  for  me  ?  ( They  gaze  long  and 
solemnly  into  each  other  Js  eyes,  then  with  a  voice  still  tremu 
lous,  but  made  vital  by  a  great  hope  and  perhaps  with  a 
touch  of  a  great  joy,  but  half  understood,  Sister  Maddalena 
breaks  the  silence.) 

SISTER  MADDALENA.  Count  it  for  you  too,  sleep,  not  death 
that  has  lain  upon  you, —  sleep,  since  that  hour  when 
your  real  self  woke  and  spoke.  What  you  were  in  that 
moment,  be  again. 

ABBOT.    Can  these  bones  live? 

68 


THE  TOCSIN 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (with  growing  calm  and  conviftion). 
"Thus  saith  the  Lord  God  unto  these  bones;  Behold,  I 
will  cause  breath  to  enter  into  you,  and  ye  shall  live." 

(As  she  speaks,  the  Abbot  seems  for  an  instant  to  kindle 
with  the  white  heat  of  her  passionate  faith ;  then  a  horror , 
as  of  a  great  darkness,  sweeps  over  his  features.  He  snatches 
away  his  hands  with  a  bitter  cry  of  despair.} 

ABBOT.    Too  late! 

SISTER  MADDALENA  (in  an  agony  of  appeal).  Not  too 
late !  O  Lord,  quicken  Thou  my  feeble  woman's  force. 
Through  the  bitterness  of  these  tears  the  power  goes 
from  me.  ( Suddenly  she  draws  herself  up  to  her  full  height, 
and  with  a  superb  gesture  of  command  towers  above  him.) 
No  time  now  for  despair!  Your  city;  your  people! 

ABBOT  (echoing  her  cry  in  a  tone  of  piercing  self-accusation). 
My  city,  my  people  left  to  perish!  (His  eyes  fall  on  the 
great  bell  hanging  under  the  penthouse.  He  hurries  toward 
it  and  seizes  the  rope.  The  bell  peals  out  tumultuously.  As 
the  sound  swells,  men-at-arms  and  monks  throng  out  into  the 
courtyard.  The  doors  of  the  chapel  swing  back  and  the 
officiating  priest  in  his  robes,  followed  by  deacons  and  altar- 
boys  with  cross  and  censer,  file  out.  They  group  themselves, 
silent  and  wondering,  the  monks  nearest  the  Abbot.  Bianca 
appears  in  the  arch  of  the  chapel  door.  The  Abbot  lets  fall 
the  rope  and  turns  to  the  brothers,  his  arms  outstretched.) 
Not  I  but  Florence  summons  you, —  Florence  from  her 
hundred  mouths  of  sin,  famine,  pestilence,  despair.  Who 
am  I  that  should  dare  call  you  back,  I  who  led  you 
astray  ?  Blind  leader  of  the  blind !  But  through  this 
angel  of  the  Lord  rings  a  cry  from  the  death-stricken 
city,  its  desert  palaces,  its  reeking  hovels.  Shall  she 
return  to  minister  alone?  Back,  back  all  of  us,  to  tend 

69 


THE  TOCSIN 

the  suffering,  hold  the  sacred  cross  before  dying  eyes, 
bury  the  unhallowed  dead!  (Horror-struck,  the  monks 
murmur  and  draw  away.)  What,  you  shrink  back?  (Sis 
ter  Maddalena  steps  to  the  Abbot 's  side.  Bianca  watches, 
breathless,  her  hands  clasped  on  her  breast.  The  Abbot  hur 
ries  on  aflame.)  You  hug  to  your  craven  breasts  the  hid 
eous  sin  I  helped  you  to  ?  You  love  this  little  life  of  the 
hour  too  well  to  risk  it  for  a  glorious  immortality  ?  O 
God,  be  mine  the  penalty,  mine  the  retribution,  base 
shepherd  of  a  coward  flock !  (Bianca  falters  a  moment, 
then  hurries  forward  and  throws  herself  at  Sister  Madda 
lena  *s  feet.  The  sister  raises  her  tenderly.  The  Abbot  takes 
Bianca  ys  hand  silently,  and  seeks  inspiration  once  more  at 
the  triumphant  eyes  of  Sister  Maddalena;  then  leaving  the 
women  and  seizing  a  cross  from  one  of  the  deacons  holds  it 
aloft.  An  irresistible  power  seems  to  have  fallen  upon  him. 
With  a  common  impulse  the  brothers  fall  on  their  knees.  The 
Abbot  looks  across  the  white-robed  mass  and  his  voice  rings 
out  like  a  clarion.)  I  shall  go  and  you  shall  follow !  I  will 
wrestle  for  you  with  the  powers  of  darkness !  I  will  save 
your  souls  alive !  I  will  pluck  them  back  from  the  gates 
of  hell,  whither  I  had  led  them !  Ye  are  Christ's,  ye  shall 
be  Christ's !  Back,  back  to  your  deserted  posts,  to  glori 
ous  pain,  to  death,  to  life  everlasting !  ( The  monks  hesi 
tate  a  moment,  falter,  sway  as  though  swept  by  a  wind,  then 
leap  to  their  feet  and  rush  forward  with  a  great  cry.) 

MONKS.   To  Florence!  To  Florence! 

ABBOT.  To  Florence !  ( He  holds  the  cross  aloft.  He  is  trans 
figured  with  joy.  The  two  women  follow,  and  all  sweep 
after  him,  crying,  "  To  Florence !  Florence ! " ) 

THE  END. 


HISTORICAL  REFERENCES 

A  LAW  FORBIDDING  ARMS 

Sixtus  had  forbidden  short  arms  to  be  worn  on  pain  of  death,  yet  one 
day  from  Prince  Farnese's  pocket  tumbled  a  small  pistol  at  the  very  feet  of 
the  pontiff.  He  was  ordered  to  be  hung  the  same  night  at  the  first  hour. 
Ferdinand,  then  on  good  terms  with  Cardinal  Farnese,  determined  to  save 
his  kinsman,  and  found  means  to  retard  every  clock  in  Rome  one  full  hour, 
all  except  the  pontiff's.  At  the  moment  appointed  for  the  execution  he  re 
paired  to  the  Vatican  and  demanded  mercy  for  his  friend.  Sixtus,  seeing 
that  the  time  was  passed  and,  as  he  thought,  the  execution  over,  most  gra 
ciously  accorded  it ;  whereupon  Ferdinand  repaired  to  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo 
and  carried  off  the  prince  in  triumph. —  NAPIER,  Florentine  History,  Vol.  V. 

CHARACTER  OF  POPE  SIXTUS  V. 

Peretti's  character  is  thus  described  in  a  letter  of  the  day  addressed  to  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Florence  by  his  agent,  Belisario  Vinti : 

"  The  Pope  is  a  grave  and  patient  person  who  knows  how  to  dissemble 
in  proper  time  and  place,  but  prudently  and  without  fraud  or  malice.  As  an 
enemy  of  falsehood  and  artifice  he  loves  men  of  probity.  He  is  literary, 
capable  of  state  affairs,  intelligent  and  experienced, —  is  resolved  to  be  pope 
himself.'* — NAPIER,  Florentine  History,  Vol.  V. 

BIANCA  CAPPELLO 

The  daughter  of  Bartolommeo  Cappello,  a  Venetian  noble,  wife  of  an 
obscure  clerk,  Piero  Buonaventuri,  with  whom  she  eloped  and  fled  to  Flor 
ence,  Bianca  became  first  the  mistress  and  afterward  the  duchess  of  Francesco 
de'  Medici.  Her  first  husband  was  murdered,  according  to  current  report, 
at  the  instigation  of  the  Grand  Duke.  Napier  says  that  on  the  occasion  of 
her  marriage  to  de*  Medici  "she  suddenly  became  the  pride  of  her  family, 
the  glory  of  her  order,  the  hope  of  her  country,  and  was  immediately  adopted 

71 


HISTORICAL  REFERENCES 

by  public  decree  '  as  the  true  and  particular  daughter  of  the  republic  in  con 
sequence  of  those  most  singular  and  most  excellent  qualities  which  rendered 
her  worthy  of  the  most  splendid  fortune/  *  *  *  But  the  splendour  of 
Venetian  rejoicing  was  exceeded  by  that  of  Florence;  jousts,  balls,  feasts, 
tournaments,  bull-fights,  the  chace  of  wild  beasts  and  every  sort  of  pastime 
filled  the  city  and  adjacent  hills  and  kept  the  Val-d'Arno  alive  with  their 
echoes.  *  *  *  The  whole  expense  of  this  marriage  to  the  Grand  Duke 
was  estimated  at  300,000  ducats,  a  sum  equal  to  about  one  year's  ordinary 
revenue  of  the  ancient  republic  in  its  most  glorious  days." 

PESTILENCE 

This  pestilence  attacked  Florence  in  July  and  killed  many  of  the  poorer 
classes  who  were  suffering  from  two  successive  years  of  scarcity  which  all  the 
efforts  of  the  office  of  Abundance  could  hardly  remedy.  The  people  were, 
moreover,  out  of  humour  with  the  government,  unhappy  and  angry  at  being 
rifled  to  meet  the  expenses  of  their  sovereign's  marriage,  just  at  a  moment 
when  failing  harvests,  sickness  and  general  misery  required  more  than  usual 
leniency. — NAPIER,  Florentine  History,  Vol.  V. 


72 


THIS  EDITION  OF  THE  TOCSIN,  A  DRAMA  OF 
THE  RENAISSANCE  BY  ESTHER  BROWN  TIFFANY 
CONSISTS  OF  THREE  HUNDRED  y  FIFTY  COPIES 
PRINTED  FOR  PAUL  ELDER  &  COMPANY  BY  THE 
TOMOYE  PRESS  AT  SAN  FRANCISCO,  UNDER  THE 
DIRECTION  OF  J.  H.  NASH,  IN  THE  MONTH  OF 
OCTOBER  fcf  YEAR  NINETEEN  HUNDRED  &  NINE 


UNIVERSITY    OF    CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 


Due  two  weeks  after  date. 


30m-7,'12 


YC    16318 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


